Feral
by Muffy Morrigan
Summary: On a simple haunting case, Dean is attacked and learns that the smallest thing can lead to utter disaster. HURT! Dean. Protective, angsty Sam. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Here's a little hurt Dean as counterpoint to the hurt Sam Welcome to the Jungle. This story (like Be Still My Beating Heart) is also based on recent personal experience. Yep. Don't ask. It's nice to have the boys to help get through this kind of thing. Title is from the amazing book by __Berton Roueche._

**Feral**

**Chapter One**

It was quiet outside the empty house. The stairs creaked as Dean eased up them. Sam was kneeling in front of the door, working on the lock. A few seconds later the door opened, Sam looked over his shoulder at Dean with a grin. Sam had always been better at locks, Dean knew it, Sam knew it and Sam liked to remind his big brother on a regular basis. Dean grinned back. "Shut up, Sammy," he whispered and Sam opened the door.

They walked into the small house. There were rooms to the left and right, a stairway and hallway in front of them. Sam looked over at Dean with his eyebrows up. "You go up and I'll head to the back of the house," Dean said quietly. Sam nodded as Dean handed him a shotgun loaded with salt and then started up the stairs.

Dean waited for a minute to make sure everything was as okay as it could be before starting down the hall. He was nervous, not overly so, but just enough to set him on edge. Unhappy spirits were often unpredictable. And, by all reports, the spirit haunting the small farmhouse was more than a little unhappy. _Murder victims, always pissed. _He walked into the kitchen and over to the sink at the far side of the room. Dean could hear his brother's footsteps on the floor above him.

The plate shattered over Dean's head. He ducked just in time to miss getting hit by it and the butcher's knife that followed. Hitting the floor, he rolled and looked wildly around for the spirit. She was no where to be seen. A large ceramic bowl dropped towards him, he scrambled out of its path and it exploded in shards of blue and yellow.

"Dean!" Sam shouted. Dean heard his brother coming down the stairs like a heard of elephants. "Dean!" It was the frantic tone reserved solely for him, and only when Sam was pretty sure he was going to find a corpse when he got to his brother.

"I'm okay, watch yourself." Dean edged towards the cupboards, still looking for any visible sign of the spirit. Another plate appeared out of thin air and shattered against the wall next to Dean. "Where the hell did that come from?"

"Not sure," Sam said from the door. "Look out!" he shouted as a knife flew towards Dean.

"She doesn't like me," Dean said from behind the cupboard door he had opened to stop the knife.

"I guess not." Sam raised his gun and fired as another bowl appeared mid-air. A puff of black smoke marked where the spirit had been as the bowl dropped to the floor.

Dean stood up and glanced over at Sam. "You okay?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Dean. Nothing was thrown at me." He walked over, running his eyes over Dean with a small frown curled between his eyebrows. "You've got blood on your face."

Dean scrubbed a sleeve across his face. "Must have been when the plate shattered. Nothing hit me. Nothing big at least," he added with a grin. "So, I think she was killed in the kitchen."

"Good guess, she must be tied to something in here," Sam said, opening cupboards and peering in. He was moving aside a large cut glass vase on the counter when a plate appeared and exploded inches from his head. Sam ducked as Dean swung his gun up, but there was nothing to see. A knife suddenly appeared. Dean fired, but not before the knife was thrown. Sam had dropped, the knife missed and the spirit once again disappeared in a puff of black smoke.

"Sam?"

"I'm okay. What's keeping her here?" He stood and looked around. "There must be something."

"The newspaper said she was killed here, right? What else?" Dean had walked over to stand beside Sam with his back against the wall, watching for any sign of a return of the spirit.

"She had been cremated, but the hauntings started shortly after her death here. There has to be something." Dean sighed. "Back to the cupboards?" Sam nodded and headed across the room and Dean started opening doors and looking in. Most of the shelves were empty. Finding nothing interesting he squatted down and started opening the lower cupboards. Every once in awhile he would turn to check on Sam and then turn back to the shelves and drawers. Sam caught him at it once and Dean flashed a rueful smile and shrugged. Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Dean finally found something interesting under the sink. A flash of white caught his eyes. He reached in and something hissed, then, well, he would swear it sounded like a scream. Then…pain…sharp, immediate…as something clamped down on his hand. He yelled, he would insist later in surprise and yanked his hand back. A large cat came with it. "Shit!" He tried shaking his hand, but the cat's teeth remained firmly embedded in his finger. Sam ran over and tried to pry the creature's mouth off of Dean's hand. They finally managed and with a hiss the cat ran out of the room. "Fun," Dean said, holding his hand.

"You need to clean that out, Dean. What were you doing anyway?"

"There's a hand under the sink. How was I supposed to know it was the cat's dinner." Dean grinned. "I guess he decided fresh meat was better."

"Not funny." Sam leaned over to look under the sink. "You're right." He scooped the remains of the hand into a pot and grabbed Dean's arm. "Let's go." A plate slammed into the wall, spraying both with shards of ceramic. They dashed out of the house. Sam set the pot with the hand in it down and opened the trunk. A bowl flew out of the house and smashed into the side of the car.

"What are you doing? Let's burn that thing before she ruins my car," Dean said, dodging the knife that narrowly missed his head.

"I'm grabbing the stuff, but you need to get that hand clean, Dean." Sam dragged a can of gasoline, the salt and the first-aid kit out of the trunk. He opened the kit and handed Dean a bottle of alcohol. Dean poured the liquid over is hand as Sam salted and burned the hand. The dishes stopped coming.

"Good job," Dean grinned at his brother. "Hey, it's no big deal." He snatched his hand back from Sam.

"Let me look." Sam grabbed his hand and turned it so he could get a better look at it. "I'm going to clean it a little better and when we get back you need to wash it."

"It's four little puncture marks, Sam. Nothing to panic about."

"Dean?" Sam looked at him as he dug around looking for another bottle of alcohol.

"Okay, Sammy, fine." Dean held out his hand as Sam cleaned it again. "Will I live?"

Sam looked at him and sighed. "I think so, but…"

"Sam? It's not like it's anything serious. No werewolves, no zombies, just a cat bite. Not bad compared to what we usually deal with."

"Yeah," Sam said with a grin. "Sorry. Want me to drive?"

_Nice try, Sammy. _"I think I can manage." He smiled at Sam as his brother got in the car. "Want to hit that steak place?"

"Sure." Sam smiled back. "As long as you promise to wash your hand again when we get there."

"Yes, mom." Dean gave his brother a shove, Sam shoved back with a laugh.

The sun was filtering through the purple curtains of the hotel room when Dean woke. He shifted in bed, not sure what had pulled him from sleep. Sam was snoring softly. _Thank god he finally went to sleep. _Dean rolled onto his back. He hadn't slept much, Sam's nightmares had kept them both up most of the night. Sam had finally dropped off to sleep about three. Dean had quickly followed suit. He rolled over and looked at the clock beside the bed. _Eight? Great, just great. _With a sigh he got up and headed into the bathroom. _I think I'll just go back to sleep for awhile. That steak last night is not sitting well. _He quietly closed the door and flipped the light on, trying to be quiet to not wake Sam. As he closed the door he caught sight of his hand. _What the…?_

He held it under the light for a better look. The finger where the cat he bitten him was swollen and red, the four small puncture marks oozing cloudy fluid. The knuckle was beginning to turn red and puff up. _That's not good. _He slipped quietly out of the room and grabbed the first-aid kit and walked back in the bathroom. _Damn, no antibiotics. I think this needs them, too. Oozy and red? Never good. _Dean closed the kit and went back in the room and quietly dressed, still trying not to wake his brother. _I can be to a clinic and back before he wakes up, but just in case…_He grabbed the hotel pad and scrawled a quick note. Dean left the note on his pillow and left with a quick glance back to make sure he hadn't disturbed Sam.

Dean stopped at the hotel office. "Where's the nearest clinic?" he asked the plump, motherly woman behind the desk.

"Clinic?" she laughed. "Not here. The ER at St. Clare's. Right at the light and then four blocks, can't miss it."

"Thanks."

"Everything okay?" she asked.

"Yep." Dean said, smiling at her. "No big deal."

He followed her directions to the hospital. The building was small, the emergency room parking lot had places for no more than twenty cars. He pulled in beside a mini-van with a "mom's taxi" bumper sticker and heading in the walk in entrance.

"Can I help you?" the woman sitting behind the reception desk asked as he walked in the door.

"Yeah, a cat bit me." _Oh, that sounds good. How tough are you? A cat bit me. _

"Fill this out." She shoved a form at him. He quickly filled it out and pushed it across the desk towards her. "Thank you, Dean. We'll call you back as soon as we can."

"Sure." He wandered into the waiting room. There were nine people scattered in chairs around the room. A local morning show was pouring cheer into the room. The woman on screen was babbling happily about cooking for teen parties. Dean groaned and sat in the far corner. He pulled out his phone and looked at it, tempted to call his brother. _No, not yet. They'll just give me some antibiotics and send me home. No need to wake Sammy. _The woman on the TV was talking to a guest about the latest styles in shoes. Dean shifted in the chair. His hand was beginning to throb and he had the feeling of stretched skin on his forehead that he associated with a fever.

He looked around the room, trying to guess what had brought the others to the ER. The woman to his left, well it was pretty obvious, both her eyes were black and her nose looks a little crooked. The guy across from Dean was coughing with a gurgling sound. And older couple sat quietly together. He wasn't even sure which one of the pair was there to see a doctor. A man was stretched out across three chairs snoring softly. Another woman was coughing into her coat and the man sitting near her had his foot propped up on a chair.

"Mr. Stummer? Dean Strummer?" Dean looked up, a woman in scrubs was standing with a clipboard in her hand.

"That's me." He stood, then waited as the room spun around him. _Head rush, always fun. _He followed the nurse back to a small cubicle. She pointed at a chair and he sat down, pulling his jacket off so she could take his blood pressure. She smiled absently as she filled out the paperwork and then looked at him.

"So, a cat bite?" she said, frowning at her clipboard.

"Yeah, I thought it might need antibiotics or something. Sam'll laugh at me. A cat bite." Dean chuckled a little, suddenly nervous.

"Sam?"

"My brother." Dean stuck his hand out and she looked down at it.

"Oh," she said in a very calm voice. "You should have had this looked at sooner."

"It just happened yesterday," he said with a shrug.

"Really?" She smiled at him and stood. "Do you need to use the restroom?"

"No." He stood up and grabbed his jacket, turning to head back into the waiting room. A hand on his arm stopped him. He turned back to the nurse.

"Follow me," she said, leading the way back into the ER and pointing him towards a bed.

"There were a lot of people here before me," Dean said, looking at her.

"We have to prioritize," she said with a smile. "The nurse will be right with you."

Dean dropped his jacket on the chair and stretched out on the bed. _Hmm, taking me before the woman with the broken nose and black eyes. That might not be good. _He closed his eyes, the lights seemed a little bright. _I should call Sammy. No, not yet. They'll let me go in a minute. _

"Hi, I'm Paul." A man in scrubs stepped around the curtain separating Dean from the others in the ER. "A cat bite?"

"Yeah." Dean held out his hand. "It's starting to hurt a little."

"Hmmm," Paul the nurse said. He pulled a felt-tipped pen out of his pocket and drew a line around the swelling on Dean's hand. "When did this happen?"

"Last night, about six, I think." Dean swallowed. He was starting to feel a nauseous. _Fever, always fun. _

"Really?" Paul smiled at him and asked all the usual questions about allergies and illness as he started an IV.

"It's not bad is it?" Dean said, looking from the IV to Paul and back.

Paul smiled at him. "Cat bites are bad." He smiled ruefully. "I had one last year, it was rough. I had cat scratch fever once too."

"Fun," Dean said with a sigh.

"Oh, yeah." Paul smiled. "The doctor will be right in."

Dean leaned back, his hand had started throbbing in time with his heart and his head was swimming. The room seemed cold. _I should call Sam. _He rolled his head around to look at his jacket sitting on the chair against the wall. _That seems further away than when I laid down. _He sighed. _I should have gotten him up. He'd fuss and be a pain in the ass, but he'd be here. _In the months since Sam had left Stanford and they had been back together, Dean had come to rely on the quiet calm of his brother. He hadn't realized what a hole there had been in his life until Sam was suddenly back. Dean hated the circumstances that had brought his brother back, but he didn't mind the fact that Sam was now there all the time.

"Mr. Stummer? Dean?" a female voice asked.

"Yeah?" Dean opened his eyes, not sure when he had closed them.

"I'm Dr. Knight. I understand a cat bit you?"

_Yep, told the last three people that. Jesus, don't you people read the damn notes? _"Yeah, last night."

"How are you feeling?" She was peering at his hand, a cool finger prodded the swollen knuckle gently.

"Actually, I'm not really feeling great." He smiled at her. "So, some pills and you send me home?"

"We're going to give you some IV antibiotics," she said gently. "When was your last tetanus shot?"

"Uh…"

"We'll give you one." She smiled the doctor smile. "If you can't remember you probably need one. Just relax and we'll get that IV started."

"For a cat bite?"

"Cat bites are bad," she said sternly and left him alone.

Dean closed his eyes again. Paul the nurse returned and set up the IV. He was chattering to Dean as he did it. Dean was pretty sure he answered, his tongue was feeling thick. He was beginning to get the odd feeling of disconnect a high fever produced. Dean knew he wasn't thinking clearly. While Paul was talking at him, Dean opened his eyes and looked at his hand. The red had escaped the black line Paul had drawn around it, and dark purple streaks were creeping towards his wrist. _Oh, that can't be good. _His phone started ringing. He looked across at the chair, wondering if he should ask someone to grab his phone for him. The phone stopped and then started again. Finally it stopped and the melody for a voice mail began playing every minute. _Sam. I should call him. _He tried to stand and stumbled back against the bed. _Oh, not good. _

Someone heard him fall. He was helped back into bed and someone told him to stay there.

"I need to call Sam," he said.

"We'll call him for you," Paul the nurse said.

"Good." Dean leaned back in the bed and let his eyes close. _I should have gotten Sam up. _He sighed, his hand was throbbing and he knew his fever was climbing. _How long have I been here? _He shifted in the bed, uncomfortable. Someone came in and spoke with him, he wasn't quite sure what they said. Dean asked about Sam again. _How long? _

A cool hand was placed on his forehead. He recognized the touch. "Sammy?"

**XXX**

The room was quiet when Sam woke, the sun had moved across the floor and was lighting the table at the end of the bed. He tried to stay still for another moment. The bed was perfect and he knew as he woke up it would go from perfect to a bad hotel bed. He sighed. The quiet began to seep into his consciousness. Complete quiet. No snoring, no sound of running water, no TV. "Dean?" When he received no answer he sat up and looked around the room. "Dean?"

The room was empty. He knew without getting up and looking in the bathroom. Dean was gone. Sam glanced over at the bed and saw a piece of paper sitting there. He grabbed it. "_Went to get coffee, will bring back a latte." _Sam smiled and headed into the bathroom. _Hot shower for a change. _He took advantage of the hot water and stood in the shower for a long time, letting the water sooth tight muscles a long night of nightmares had produced. _Funny Dean was up early. He sat with me all night. _The thought played again. For some reason it set off a little alarm in his head. Sam shut the water off and got out of the shower. After quickly toweling himself off, he dressed and glanced at the clock. 10:30. _Where's Dean? When did he leave?_ He picked up his phone and looked at it, hoping Dean had called while he was in the shower. No such luck.

Knowing his brother would be annoyed, but not caring as the alarm bells got louder and louder, Sam hit the speed dial on his phone. Dean's phone rang and rang and went to voicemail. Sam hung up and tried again. "Come on, Dean," he said aloud in the quiet room. Voicemail again. "Call me." He hung up and grabbed the room key and headed to the office, hoping someone had noticed which direction the Impala had gone that morning.

"Hello," the manager said when he walked in. He smiled at her. She was plump and about fifty and she reminded him of his high school English teacher. _Well, one of many. _

"Hi," he said.

"Did your brother find the ER okay?" she asked, smiling at him.

"The what?" Sam's heart started pounding.

She frowned at him. "He came in earlier, asking about a clinic. I told him we don't have one, just the ER at St. Clare's."

_Dean? When I get to you I will murder you. Why didn't you wake me?_ "How far is it?"

"See the traffic light?" She pointed out the window. "Turn right and then it's four blocks down main street."

"Thanks." Sam walked out of the office and pulled the phone out again. He dialed, no answer. Again. No answer. Again. No answer. He reached the stoplight and jogged down the street. _Dean, I am going to kill you. _He spotted the hospital two blocks before he reached it. Following the signs to the ER, he saw the Impala parked in the lot. _Still here, is that good or bad? Dean going to the hospital at all is bad enough, still here…_

Sam walked in and after a quick glance around the waiting room stepped up to the reception desk. The woman looked up at him and smiled and automatically shoved a clipboard at him. Sam shook his head. "I'm looking for my brother."

"Brother?" She frowned at him.

"Dean…" _We really should settle on what name we're going to use. Which credit card did he use last night? _"Strummer?" he said, hoping she wouldn't notice the hesitation.

"Are you Sam?" A woman in scrubs asked. Sam nodded. "He mentioned you. I'll take you back."

"What's wrong with him?"

She frowned. "It's the cat bite." She led him back into an area divided up by curtains. "Room 27." She gestured at the pink stripped curtain in the corner.

"When can he go?" Sam stopped her.

"Go?" She smiled the nurse smile. "He's not going anywhere."

"What?" _That doesn't sound good, not at all. Dean what the hell?_

"He's being admitted." She turned and left Sam standing in the middle of the curtained area. His heart was pounding, his hands were shaking and his mouth was dry. _Admitted? Dean? _

Sam walked to the curtain and eased it open. Dean was lying on a bed with his eyes closed. His face was red and he had his right hand carefully cradled on his chest. The hand had a black circle drawn on it. Sam approached the bed. Dean's hand was bright red and green was oozing from the four puncture wounds on his index finger. Sam put his hand down on Dean's forehead. _My god, Dean, you're burning up. _

Dean sighed. "Sammy?"

"What the hell are you doing here?" The words came out a little harsher than Sam intended.

"Getting coffee. You?" Dean opened glassy eyes and looked at him with a smile.

"I got tired of waiting for you to get back with the latte." Sam said with a smile. He looked around and spotted a chair and dragged it over to the bed.

"Yeah, sorry about that." Dean said, his voice was a little hazy. "I got sidetracked."

"Seems that way." Sam frowned. "I tried calling," he chided gently.

"Yeah, I tried to get to the phone." Dean smiled. "I fell down."

"What?" _Dean? How bad? Out with it. Come on, damn it. _

"Yep." Dean swallowed. "I don't feel good, Sammy." He fumbled around with his left hand, Sam realized what he wanted and grabbed it in his own. "Can we go?" Dean said, sounding confused and very young.

"They're admitting you, Dean."

"Oh, yeah, I think someone said that." Dean looked over at him. "My hand hurts."

"I bet." Sam looked at the hand again. There were dark streaks headed up Dean's wrist. _Oh, god, Dean. That's not good, not good at all. _

"So, Sammy?" Dean held onto his hand a little tighter. "Turns out cat bites are bad."

"Bad?"

"People keep telling me it's bad and then smiling that damn calm they all have."

"It's not that bad, Dean." Sam said, willing it to be true, knowing it wasn't.

"Sorry, Sammy." Dean closed his eyes. "But it's bad." _Werewolves, skinwalkers, wendigos—and I'm here because of a damn cat. _

_**To Be Continued**_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing! I would like to offer a special thanks to TF,MD for her information andher lovely and delicious ideas on how bad a bite can get and all the terrible consequences. And to the hot nurse "Alex" for her lengthy explanations and awesome information! For those of you who are fans of the sport Dean discovers, count me as fan, too, but I have to tell you—on opiates? It's the best!_

**Feral**

**Chapter Two**

The ER was fairly quiet, as ERs went. No one was screaming, no one was sobbing, there were no doctors racing to a nearly dead patient. Sam was distracting himself by watching people through the small opening in the curtains. They had brought a woman with two black eyes into the cubicle next to Dean and her voice was carrying over the quiet ER.

"I need something for pain," she said in a harsh tone.

"We gave you something," a male voice answered. Sam had seen a man in scrubs go into the cubicle a few minutes before.

"I need something stronger. Give me morphine, I need morphine."

"The doctor wants to check you out first," the man answered reasonably.

"God damn it, give me morphine!" she yelled. Sam heard the sounds of a scuffle and someone yelling for security. He turned back to his brother, Dean had opened his eyes and was smiling a little.

"Fun," Dean said.

"Yeah," Sam said, trying to smile back. It was getting harder and harder to keep up the pretense. Dean's face was red, the swelling in his hand was getting worse by the minute. _That's not the worst part. That's not what bothers me. He's been hurt before, he's been sick…So swelling and fever, yes, a worry, but not… _The thing that really terrified Sam, was his brother had a death grip on his hand, holding on desperately like it was the only thing keeping him anchored. 

"Why do you suppose they call them rooms?" Dean asked.

"What?"

"Here, they called it a room, but it is only two walls with curtains…It's more like a…a…" He frowned in confusion. 

"Like a cubicle?" Sam supplied the word he was sure Dean was looking for.

"Exactly." Dean shifted a little in the bed. "Can we go now?"

"Dean, they're admitting you, remember?" Sam said. _We just talked about that. He's slipping. _

"Yeah, right, just testing you, Sammy." Dean closed his eyes, Sam saw a spasm of pain cross his brother's face.

"Do you need anything?"

"Morphine, I need morphine, Sammy," Dean mumbled with a little laugh. He opened his eyes a crack and peered at Sam. 

"Very funny."

"I'm fine, Sammy, really," he said with a smirk. Sam looked at him, Dean had closed his eyes again, but there was definitely a smirk on his face. 

"Yeah, Dean, you look fine."_ Dean does not do well when he has a fever. The higher it gets the more it affects him. I remember that time…_

"Really, Sammy," Dean paused for a moment. "I'm okay." There was an odd worried note in Dean's voice that, to Sam, sounded nothing like his brother.

"You're holding my hand." 

"There's a reason for that, Sammy," he said reasonably, still with the odd note in his voice.

"Oh?" Sam asked gently, trying to hide the note of concern, _be honest it's almost panic, _in his voice.

"The bed's spinning, Sammy." Again, Dean paused. "And if I let go, I'm afraid I'll fall off. I've already fallen once…Sammy." The worried tone was starting to sound a little panicked.

Sam frowned in concern. _It's getting worse. _"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Just keep me from falling off, Sammy." Dean waited for a minute. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"It's bad, isn't it?"

"What do you mean? You're getting meds, you'll be fine."

"It's bad, Sam. I wasn't really sure until a minute ago," Dean said, opening his eyes.

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, wondering what had happened in the last few seconds. "Dean? What's wrong?" 

"You didn't correct me." The note of panic in Dean's voice had suddenly increased. _What's going on with you, Dean?_ Sam was sure no one else would hear it, but he knew it was there.

"What?"

"You didn't correct me," Dean repeated, like Sam should know what he was talking about. Sam shook his head. _What do you mean? What's going on? Dean? What's wrong?_ His brother tightened the grip on his hand and sat up a little in the bed. Sam could sense real panic from Dean now. "You didn't correct me. Did they tell you something? Do you know something they didn't tell me?" Dean's eyes were wild in his fevered face.

"Dean, calm down, they haven't spoken to me at all," he said, standing and trying to push Dean back down on the bed. "Calm down, it's going to be okay." _Should it be getting worse like this? _

"No, it's bad, they all said it was bad and now, Sammy, you didn't correct me."

"Dean…" Suddenly it clicked, the repeated use of Sammy. "Dean," he forced a laugh. "I was just letting you talk, that's all." Sam tried to keep his voice calm. His brother was burning up, Sam could feel the heat radiating off of Dean from where he stood. _It's bad, oh, god, it's bad. _

Sam saw something odd in his brother's eyes for half a second and then Dean stopped struggling and leaned back in the bed with a sheepish grin. "Sorry." He shook his head. "Not sure what happened there." His voice was back to normal, the note of panic gone as if it had never been there.

"Dean?" Sam sat back down, pulling the chair closer. "What?"

"It must be the fever. You know I always get a little crazy with a fever," Dean said with a little smile. Sam noticed there was a worried frown on his brother's face. 

"Yeah," Sam said gently, trying to stay calm for his brother's sake. _I'm beginning to get worried. I just can't shake this feeling. I had it last night when the cat bit him. _

A man shoved the curtain open. "Hi, I'm Dave, I'm going to take you to your room," he said, smiling at Dean.

"What the hell kind of hospital is this?" Dean asked, rolling glassy eyes at Sam.

"Dean?"

"All the nurses, they're dudes. How can I recover? You need to transfer me quick. Must have hot nurses to survive."

"Shut up." Sam gave Dean's hand a little squeeze and stood.

"The doctor wants to talk with you," Dave said to Sam. "We'll get him settled in and then you can come back, he'll be in room thirteen."

"Male nurses and room 13, this place must be cursed," Dean muttered. 

"It's okay, Dean," Sam said, giving his shoulder a little pat. "I'll talk to the doctor and then be right back, okay?"

"Get yourself something to eat or coffee or something, Sam, before you come check on me." 

"Dean…"

"Sammy…"

"It's Sam," he said, watching Dean smile at the response. "I'll be back in a few minutes." 

"Yep," Dean waved as they wheeled him out of the little room. 

Sam collected Dean's jacket from the chair and stood waiting in the cubicle for a minute longer before a tall woman came in. "I'm Dr. Knight. I just have a few questions for you."

"Sure, doc. What?" _Are you actually going to ask me a question? Or tell me something awful? He's getting worse, isn't he?_

"Is you brother's immune system normal?" she asked, looking at the clipboard in her hands.

"Yes," Sam answered. 

"You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Sam said firmly.

"Hmm," she said with a little doctor frown. "Your cat has had its shots?"

"It wasn't our cat."

"Oh." She scribbled something on the paper. "Do you know if it had its rabies shots?"

"Uh…" Sam said. 

"We need to know if we should start treatment. Rabies treatments aren't fun. Rabies from a cat bite is not very common, but it is always something to worry about." She gave him the calm doctor look. 

"I'm sure it had its shots, but I'll see if I can find the cat," Sam said urgently. "Will Dean be okay?" _Say yes, please say yes. _

"I'm sure he will." Again the calm smile. _Somehow, doc, I'm not convinced._. "He'll probably be here for a day or two," she said a little absently as she made notes on the clipboard. She looked up and smiled at him. "He'll be settled in a little just a little while, you should get something to eat." 

Sam watched her go. _Everyone wants me to eat. Why do they think I can? _He followed the exit signs into the lobby and stood there unsure where to go. Sam noticed a sign "patient's rooms" with an arrow and turned in that direction. As he walked out of the ER and into the main part of the hospital, he smelled coffee. He veered off and stopped at the espresso stand outside the gift shop. Sam ordered and waited as the barista made his coffee. 

Something in the gift shop caught his eye, and as soon as he got his coffee he wandered into the small shop. He smiled at the woman behind the counter and walked over to the collection of plush animals in the corner. He picked up the small wolf-looking dog and his smile widened.

"_What's this, Sammy?" his eleven-year-old brother had asked when Sam came in the room with the package clutched in his hands._

"_It's something to keep you company while you're here, Dean," he said, handing Dean the gift._

_Dean opened it and smiled as he set the small plush animal on the tray by the bed. "I'm sure he will," Dean said gently._

"_Dad said you had to be here for another day," Sam said as he perched on the edge of the bed. _

"_Yeah, but I'll be okay, Sammy."_

"_Promise, Dean?"_

"_Promise." Dean patted his leg with a hand that seemed much too hot to Sam._

Sam took the dog over to the counter, the woman offered to gift wrap it and Sam accepted, watching her as she did it. He smiled when she handed him the package and walked out of the shop, heading towards the patient rooms. 

The TV was on in Dean's room. Sam heard the dry voice of an announcer from the TV and his brother's laughter. He pushed the door open. "Dean?"

His brother glanced over at him with a grin on his face. "Curling rocks!" 

"What?" Sam said, walking over to the bed. 

"Curling," Dean said slowly, like he was explaining something to an idiot. "You know, curling?"

Sam looked up at the TV, a commercial was playing, but the words "Canadian Curling Championshipscurrent standings" were running across the bottom of the screen. "Curling, Dean?"

"Best sport ever," his brother said with a laugh. 

"Did they give you pain meds?" Sam said, shaking his head as he sat in the chair by the bed.

"Oh, hell yeah." Dean smiled at him. "I flipped around for a bit, found that fabric softener teddy bear, a Mexican soap with a _really_ hot chick but it went to commercial, then a food show about how they make American cheese—gross—and I was getting ready to give up when I found curling."

"Curling?" Sam said, laughing a little at Dean's enthusiasm.

"Yep," Dean laughed.

"Do you have any idea what's going on?"

"Nope, but it's the best sport ever." Dean grinned. "What's that?"

"Oh," Sam put the package on the tray over the bed. "I found this for you."

"Thanks." Dean reached up to open the gift.

"My god, Dean!" Sam said, shocked.

Dean looked down at his right hand. It was red and swollen, the whole hand, to almost twice its normal size. "It feels worse than it looks," Dean said, still grinning. "And check this out." Dean bent his index finger and green ooze popped out from the small holes on his index finger. "Cool, huh?"

"Not funny, Dean."

"It's a little funny, Sammy." He fumbled at the paper for a minute. "Can you give me a hand?" Dean chuckled. "Give me a hand," he said, under his breath, still laughing. Sam smiled and tore the paper from the gift. Dean smiled when the little dog tumbled onto the bed. "Hey, it's Killer." Dean picked the toy up and looked at it. "Well, Killer if he had a bath and a little surgery to fix that missing leg. Remember that time I had pneumonia when I was sixteen and you brought him to the hospital?"

"And the nursing staff kept trying to take him away?"

"They said he wasn't sanitary." Dean shook his head. 

"He probably wasn't." Sam said with a laugh.

"Probably not. Thanks, Sam. Hey, it's back on! I think the yellow guys are winning."

Sam looked up at the TV. "You think?" 

"Oh, here they go, wait for it…wait for it…" Dean started laughing. "Isn't this the best?"

"Dean…" Sam couldn't help but smile as Dean laughed. 

"Yeah?" Dean looked over at him.

"I need to leave for a little while…"

"Why?" Dean cut him off.

"I need to see if I can find that cat. If not, they'll have to give you rabies injections."

"Like Ozzy?" Dean grinned. "Me and Ozzy."

"I think it would be better to miss the injections, Dean. They're supposed to be really painful."

"Oh, maybe you should find the cat." Dean's eyes drifted back to the TV. Sam stood and turned to go. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't be gone too long, okay?" Dean said, frowning at him. 

Sam walked back to the bed and patted Dean's shoulder. "I won't, Dean. You just enjoy the curling. I'll need to know the score when I get back."

"Right," Dean smiled. "Sam…"

"I'll be back soon, Dean. Promise." 

"Be careful with the car." 

"I will." Sam gave Dean's shoulder a last pat and walked out of the room. He stopped by the nurse's station on his way out, giving them his cell number in case of an emergency and then walked out through the ER to the car. Once at the car he stopped for a minute, his hands shaking. _Oh, god he looks terrible. His hand—shouldn't it be getting better? Or at least not getting worse? _Sam opened the door and dropped into the car. He let his head rest on the back of the seat. _I need to get going. _He took a deep breath and put his hands on the wheel, turning the engine over and letting the familiar growl of the Impala calm his nerves.

He eased the car out of the tight parking spot, the small spaces were not made for the Impala and getting out was a bit of a trick. Sam watched each side, dreading even the tiniest scratch. _Dean would murder me. _Sam turned onto the road and headed to the outskirts of town where they had been the night before. _I hope I can find that cat. All Dean needs are rabies shots. _Sam sighed. His brother was rarely ill. He could count on one hand the number of times Dean had been sick. _Injured yes, almost fatally once or twice, but never sick. And he gets bad with a fever, they always get high and then he gets a little paranoid. I remember that time he hit dad. _Sam smiled a little remembering his father rubbing his jaw with a shocked look on his face. _Of course, Dean nearly died that time. We let it go too long. But this time, I think we caught it in time. _

Sam pulled up in front of the house, the wheels crunching over broken dishes. He walked up in the porch, and after glancing around, opened the front door and stepped into the hallway. _Where would it be? I have to find it and get back to Dean. I wonder how long they let it go before they start treatment?_ Sam walked through the house to the kitchen, planning on starting there in his search for the cat. The cupboard door where Dean found the hand was still open. Sam crouched down and looked under the sink, no cat. _I guess expecting it to come back here was a long shot. Now what? _He opened some of the other cupboard doors. In the shelves by the stove were the remains of a half-eaten mouse, still fairly fresh.

When he has exhausted all possibilities in the kitchen, he moved on through the house. The rooms were still furnished. There were pictures on the walls and on the bookshelves. Sam picked one up off a small piano in the living room, a smiling couple and a fat cat. _Looks like the one that bit Dean. _Sam put the photo down and walked into the next room. It was a small office, a wood-tone file cabinet against the wall. Sam opened the top drawer, it was still full of papers. _I guess what the cops didn't take when she was murdered was left here, no one came and claimed it. Of course, she didn't die all that long ago. _Sam closed the first drawer and opened the second and then the bottom drawer. 

One file folder was labeled "Fluffers," Sam pulled it out and opened it, it was full of pictures and vet records. Sam recognized the cat that had bitten Dean. He flipped through the pages and found what he was looking for, vaccination records, including rabies. Sam breathed a sigh of relief. _Thank god._ _That didn't take long and I can get back to Dean. _He pulled the records out of the file and then stuck the folder back in the drawer. 

As Sam walked out of the house, his foot caught something under the edge of the couch. He glanced down at it. _What's that? _Sam picked it up, a round golden locket on a broken chain. He put it carefully on a shelf and walked out of the house. The cat tore past him and he walked to the car, heading back towards the house. It dove under the porch and disappeared from site. _Must have a way in down there. _

The lot was busy when Sam pulled up at the hospital. He parked the car and headed in. Dean's doctor was standing talking to the nurses. She turned as Sam approached. 

"Mr. Stummer," she said as he walked up to her.

"Sam." He smiled. "I have the vaccination records for Fluffers."

"Oh, good, one less thing to worry about." She had the calm doctor look pasted on her face. _That's not a good sign._ Sam looked over at the nurses, they were smiling the calm smile at him too. 

Without warning his heart started pounding, panic suddenly flaring in his chest. "What's wrong?" he asked, holding his breath, waiting for a denial. _Something's wrong, they only get that calm if something is really, really wrong._

It didn't come. "Your brother…" The doctor sighed. 

"What?" Sam took a deep breath and smiled his best imitation of their calm smiles. "Tell me what's going on."

"He's not responding as well as we hoped," the doctor said.

"What?" _What? Isn't that the way doctors say "going from bad to worse"?_

"His fever is increasing." The doctor frowned for an instant.

"Doctor?" _I saw the frown, what does that mean? _

She shook her head and then smiled at him again. "We're treating him for it. Someone will be in to check on him very soon. He was asking for you, he was agitated."

"He gets that way with a fever," Sam said before heading to Dean's room. He opened the door. _Oh, god, Dean. _His brother was laying very still, just a sheet over him, naked shoulders were sticking out from under the sheet. Dean's face was red. His swollen hand had been propped up on a pillow. "Hey, Dean."

"Sammy, you're back," Dean said opening his eyes and looking at Sam. His brother's eyes were glassy and unfocused. "The yellow guys are in the lead. More tomorrow." 

"Yellow guys?" Sam asked, confused for a minute. "Oh, the curling. How do you feel?"

Dean smiled. "I feel great, ready to go anytime." 

"I found the records for the cat, no injections for you."

"Damn and I wanted to be like Ozzy," Dean said hazily. 

"Dean?"

"They gave me something."

"For the fever?"

"I guess so." Dean was quiet for a minute. "Sam?"

"What?"

"Um…"

"What is it, Dean?" Sam leaned forward, concerned. Dean looked distressed.

"They put the remote by my right hand," Dean said sadly. 

Sam smiled and grabbed the remote. "What do you want to watch?"

"Anything but a documentary." Dean chuckled a little. "Unless it's 'Heavy: the Story of Metal' or 'The Decline of Western Civilization: The Metal Years'."

"How many times have you seen those?" Sam asked as he flipped through the limited stations on the TV. He stopped on a local station playing reruns of "The Simpsons."

"Good choice," Dean said. "Hey, it's the one with Spinal Tap."

"You know that in the first three seconds?"

"Of course, Sammy." Dean shook his head. "Don't you?"

"Not really."

"You need to get educated," Dean said with a smirk. 

They were quiet as they watched, Dean laughing softly once or twice. Sam kept an eye on his brother. A nurse came in every fifteen minutes and left again. She always smiled. Each time the smile got calmer and more compassionate. Every time she left, Sam would look at his brother. Dean had grown quiet during the second episode. Sam knew the minute Dean stopped sweating. He put his hand on Dean's forehead. 

Dean opened his eyes. "Sammy?"

"It's okay, Dean." _Should I get the nurse? No she'll be back in about five minutes. _Sam's stomach grumbled. 

Dean grinned a little. "Have you eaten?" When Sam didn't say anything Dean frowned. "Sam?"

"No."

"Go get something," Dean said softly, letting his eyes close again. "I'll be okay, you won't be gone long." He smiled. "Maybe the hot nurse will be back if you leave."

"Hot nurse?" 

"Alex."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Of course." He hesitated, not wanting to leave. His stomach rumbled again. "Okay, Dean, I'll be right back. The cafeteria is just down the hall."

"It's okay, Sam, I'm not going anywhere."

Sam wandered down the hall towards the smell of food. It was a small hospital, everything on one level. The cafeteria was down the hall from Dean's room on the other side of the main lobby. It was mostly empty, a few people sitting at tables. Some talking quietly, one woman was staring into a cup of coffee, tears running down her face. Sam ordered a sandwich and headed back to towards Dean's room. As he rounded the corner he noticed staff running down the hall. His walk became a sprint when he realized they were running towards Dean's room. _Oh my god, what's going on? Dean? What's happening?_

"SAM!" Dean's voice echoed down the hall. "SAM!"

Sam ran in the door to Dean's room. Two large women were holding Dean down, another was trying to fasten restraints on his legs. Dean was struggling against them, screaming Sam's name. 

The doctor looked up at Sam, the calm was completely absent from her face. "Talk to him."

"Sammy!"

Sam tried to get to the bed, shoving against one of the women who were holding Dean down. "Dean, I'm here." _What's going on?_

"They're…it's…Sammy…please, Sam, get me out of here," Dean was sobbing, trying to free himself from the women, trying to pull his left hand out of the restraints.

"It's okay, Dean." _It's the fever, it's starting to get to him. _Sam looked at the doctor. "Does he have to be restrained? It'll make it worse, trust me." _He panics in restraints, it's one of the only things that actually panics him._

"If he calms down, we can take them off."

"Help me, Sam, please." Dean's eyes were wild, his face bright red and dry. "Sam, please," he said, a desperate note in his voice, still struggling against the restraints.

"Dean, it's okay, it's okay," Sam said, putting a hand on Dean's head. His brother was burning up. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw the doctor push a syringe into the line in Dean's hand. Dean started relaxing.

"Sam?" His eyes closed.

"Here, Dean."

"Don...Sammy…" 

"Doctor?" Sam said, looking up at the woman. "What's going on?"

"Mr. Strummer," she began.

"Sam," he snapped his name back at her. "What's going on?" _Just tell me. How bad is it? _

She swallowed. "I…" The calm was gone, it had not reappeared. 

"Doc?" Sam asked, trying to stay calm, but feeling panic flaring full blown in his chest.

"I don't know."

"Will he be okay?" _He has to be, you're giving him antibiotics, right? You gave him something for the fever, right?_

She shook her head minutely. "I'm sorry."

"What?" _What? WHAT?_

"We're doing our best, Sam," she said gently. The compassion was there in her eyes, not calm, but sympathy. _Oh, god no. _She gestured at the other women and they left the room.

Sam looked down at his brother, his hands had started shaking and his heart was thudding against his ribcage in a staccato beat. "Dean? You're supposed to be getting better." He walked around to the left side of the bed and took his brother's hand in his, trying to still the shaking of his own, in case Dean could feel it. Sam gave his brother's hand a squeeze. 

"You actually had the good sense to get help in time for a change. You're supposed to be getting better. Dean…"Sam sighed sadly, trying to ignore the warring panic and hopelessness in his chest. "Don't you dare do something stupid like die on me." Dean still wasn't sweating, his face was red, Sam could feel heat coming off of his brother in waves.

_Oh god, Dean. This is supposed to be simple. It's a cat bite, Dean, just a cat bite, from a cat named Fluffers. Are you going to let something named Fluffers do this to you?_

_Please, Dean, please hang on. _

_**To Be Continued**_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: After several false starts and fighting with this chapter I realized what was going on. Dean wants to talk a bit and so I backed it up a tiny bit to when Sam leaves the room to go eat. Dean's fevered experience is based a little on life—I get delusional, too. Sorry it took so long to get this up folks! I really intended to write in LA but I was distracted a little. But I'll make it up to you with fast chapters from now on! _

**Feral**

**Chapter Three**

The room was quiet except for the sound of the television and the soft noises of the various hospital gadgets surrounding him. Dean sighed a little, his fever was rising, he could feel the heat starting in his chest and flowing over his body. _I never noticed it did that before. Hey, Sammy, I'm having hot flashes. _He felt a small grin start on his face, he tried shifting a little, focusing on "The Simpsons" but nothing could really distract him from the heat and the growing agony in his hand.

The nurse came in. _And wow, hot. Not to mention the accent, hot British nurse Alex, nice. After I get out of here…_She checked his vitals. He tried smiling _the _smile at her, the one guaranteed to make women melt, but it didn't seem to be working. _Damn. _After she had replaced the ice pack under his neck, she smiled at Sam and left the room. _Hands off my nurse, Sammy._

His fever was still rising. The ice pack seemed to provide relief for a few seconds and then the heat began again. It felt like his blood was beginning to boil in his veins, his hand was throbbing in a steady beat and his head was beginning to pound in time with his hand. Odd visions occasionally passed before his eyes, unraveling in his head, reality fading in and out. He was with Sam in the room one moment and then someplace else the next. _I don't think I'll mention that to Sam, he worries_. _I'm just not good with a fever. _He let his eyes close and lay listening to the television. _I think I stopped sweating. Okay, that is not good. _Dean tried to remember any of the many first aid books their father had him read. _I know not sweating is bad. It's like when you are hypothermic—not shivering is bad. So this is bad? How bad? _

A cool hand came to rest on his forehead. Dean opened his eyes. "Sammy?"

"It's okay, Dean," Sam said with a gentle smile. _How does he do that? Know what I'm thinking? When we were kids, sure, but now? _

Dean heard Sam's stomach growl and grinned a little. "Have you eaten?" Sam paused, frowning at him. Dean could see the emotions playing across his brother's face. "Sam?"

"No." Still with the little frown between his eyebrows.

"Go get something," Dean said, trying to ignore the sudden acceleration of his heart at the thought of being alone in the hospital room. _Fever, it is starting to get to me. I'd better get Sam out of here for a bit, before it gets bad. And I think it is, sorry Sam. _"I'll be okay, you won't be gone long." He smiled at his brother and quirked an eyebrow. "Maybe the hot nurse will be back if you leave."

"Hot nurse?"

"Alex."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Of course." Sam turned to go and then turned back, concern on his face. Dean nodded at him. "Okay, Dean, I'll be right back. The cafeteria is just down the hall."

"It's okay, Sam, I'm not going anywhere." Sam smiled at him and walked out, Dean watched him go before letting his eyes close again. _Not doing good and it was a cat. A CAT. I can't believe it. I guess it could be worse, it could have been some fluffy kitten. _Dean lay listening to the television. "The Simpsons" had ended and "Family Guy" had started. _Adam West must be insane. _Dean chuckled.

After awhile he realized he could hear a conversation just outside his door, a female voice and a male voice. The male voice had a barely noticeable accent, not British like the nurse, but something else. He thought they might be talking about him.

"It is like the other?" the male voice asked.

"Fever is rising, and his hand is getting worse, much worse," the female voice answered.

"We need to watch it, we don't want to lose another." _Lose? What the hell are they talking about? _

"Do you think it's like that?" she asked.

"I don't know, we need to keep a close eye on him. If it gets bad we need to act before…" _Are they talking about me? Sam? Time to come back._

"Yes," she said. "I'll do that now."

Dean lay perfectly still. _They were talking about me. What did he mean? Act before…? Before what and act how? Sam? _Dean could hear the light footsteps of someone in the room. He felt a hand brush his face. Panic suddenly flared in his chest. _Something is going on, something is very wrong. Sam? Where are you? _The hand moved from his head down to his injured hand. Pain shot up his arm, the hand continued its gentle prodding.

"Stop," he groaned. "Please." He tried to pull his hand away. "Stop."

"No," it hissed. He opened his eyes, glittering black cat eyes shone back at him. _No, no, no! _He tried to fight the woman as she held him.

"Let me go." He struggled against her.

"I need help," he heard a small voice shout. Someone else ran into the room, hands held his shoulders down, black eyes glaring back at him.

"No, please. Sam! SAM! SAM!" He was trying to fight off the hands holding him down. Something was putting restraints on him. _No, please no. No. _Panic had transformed into terror, his heart was slamming against his chest blocking out everything except the need to escape. "Sammy! Please! Sam! Sammy!"

"I'm here, Dean." A hand pressed against his arm. "Dean, I'm here."

"They're…it's…Sammy…please, Sam, get me out of here." Dean could hear himself sobbing in fear, still trying to struggle free. Part of his mind, a tiny part, was telling him nothing was wrong, it was the fever and nothing else. The rest of him was screaming in terror.

"It's okay, Dean," Sam said gently. "Does he have to be restrained?" His brother was talking to someone, his voice hard. "It'll make it worse, trust me."

"If he calms down, we can take them off."

"Help me, Sam, please." Dean opened his eyes, trying to see what was going on. The black eyes were gone. "Sam, please."

"Dean, it's okay, it's okay," Sam said, putting a hand on Dean's head. The contact calmed him. _Sam's here, it's okay. _Something cool ran up his arm, the world started fading.

"Sam?" He held his brother's eyes for as long as he could before he closed them.

"Here, Dean. It's okay, I'm here."

_Don't leave again, don't let them act, whatever that means. Please Sam. _What came out was, "Don...Sammy…" And the world was gone.

Awareness crept back, releasing him from terrifying dreams of blood, cats and screams filling an empty house. The screams, some in his voice, some in another voice, were slowly replaced by the drone of a television program. The blood covering his body in a hot film disappeared, replaced by a cool sheet. The weight on his arm, the only anchor in the storm of fevered dreams, turned out to be Sam's hand. Dean knew that even before he was all the way awake, he'd known it during the dream, the only thing holding him to sanity had been that weight on his arm, a cool, calloused hand. _I wonder if he knew that? I wonder if he knows…_

His hand was a ball of agony, white-hot, immobile. The finger with the bite was throbbing, aching, the pain was now bone deep, pounding in his joints. He could smell the distinctive scent of pus slowly oozing from his hand. _Yummy. One of my favorite smells. _He was still floating a little, distant from reality, although the world seemed less frightening than it had before.

"Smy?" Dean mumbled. _That didn't come out well. Trying again, louder._ "Sammy?" The word came out a little clearer that time, but still whisper soft. _Sam are you there? Sam? _Panic was back. "Sam!" His brother's hand tightened on his arm.

"I'm here," Sam said quickly_. _

Dean tried to get his eyes open, they didn't seem to work right. "Sam?"

"It's okay, Dean, I'm here." He moved his hand onto Dean's forehead "It's okay."

"Wha's penning?" Dean said, still trying to opening his eyes.

"You're in the hospital, remember? The cat bit you?"

_Really? You think? _"Fee weir…"

Sam chuckled softly, the sound reassured Dean. "It's okay, Dean, they gave you something to relax."

_Oh, yeah, I was a little insane, I think. _"What?" Dean got his eyes opened, blinked and then tried to focus on Sam.

"They had to give you something to help you relax."

"Fever…Sammy…makes me…crazy." Dean said, his eyes drifting closed again.

"Always," Sam said softly, giving Dean's arm a squeeze.

"Yeah, always. Don't leave, Sam." Dean opened his eyes to look at his brother.

"Dean?"

"Please stay."

"I won't leave, Dean."

"Promise?"

"Promise." Sam smiled.

"Sorry, it's the fever, Sammy."

"It's Sam," his brother said with a gentle smile. "I know, Dean."

"Remember the last time?" Dean smiled at his brother, trying to focus.

Sam suddenly looked sad. "Yeah, I remember."

"You know, I don't remember much, really. Didn't I punch dad?"

"You…yeah…you punched dad."

"He'd called you?" Dean said, letting his eye close, listening to the sound of Sam's voice.

"Yeah, he called. I was away at debate camp…"

**Past**

The hall was filled with laughing students. The leftover scent of lunch drifted along the corridor as they made their way back towards the dorms for a break before the afternoon activities began. Sam had finished lunch and was headed out into the quad to spend a little time with a book he had snagged from the library. _It's been almost a week, a whole week—without dad, without Dean, without anyone bugging me about my nose in a book. _Sam sighed as he walked out of the building, the sun warm on his face, despite the cool breeze.

"Hi, Sam," a soft voice said from beside him.

"Uh, hi," he said, looking down at the girl beside him.

"What are you going to during break?" she asked a little shyly.

Sam shrugged. "I was thinking of reading for awhile." He could feel a blush spreading up his cheeks. _Is she talking to me?_ "I, uh, I found a book in the library." _You found a book in the library? Very smooth, there Sammy. _Said a voice in his head that sounded a lot like Dean. Sam smiled at the thought.

"Oh, really?" She put a hand on his arm.

"Uh, yeah." He tried to pull his hand away without being really obvious about it. _Dean would laugh at me. _

"Can I read with you?" She was steering them towards a bench under a tree.

"I…uh…" Sam swallowed. "Okay." He let her lead him to the seat and settled down, trying not to look awkward as he stretched his legs out in front of him.

"Winchester?"

Sam looked up. "Yes?" His debate coach was standing in front of him.

"There's a phone call for you, urgent, in the office. Get your ass in there."

"Sure," Sam said. _Mr. Edwards thinks he's a football coach sometimes. _Sam jogged to the office, suddenly nervous. Urgent calls usually meant a disaster. "I'm Sam Winchester," he said to the woman behind the front desk.

"Oh, good." The receptionist looked relieved. She handed him the receiver of the phone and punched the hold button.

"Hello?"

"I need you home now," John Winchester snapped without preamble.

Sam's heart stopped. "Dad, what's wrong?" He swallowed. "Is Dean okay?" He heard his voice crack on the last word.

"Dad, leave Sammy alone," Dean said, his voice muffled in the background.

"Damn it, Dean, get back into bed," John barked out the order. "Home, now," he said into the phone.

"Stay there, Sammy!" Dean shouted.

"Dean!" John shouted. Sam heard the phone drop and something that sounded like a scuffle in the background. John was swearing when he picked up the phone again. "You brother is sick. I need you home now."

As worried as he was, Sam grinned. "Fever?"

"Going up," John growled. "He says it's not serious, but his fever is going up…" And suddenly, under the gruff, growling voice there was worry, tinged with a little fear.

"Leave Sammy alone," Dean was saying in the background.

"I need you," John said softly, his voice carrying over Dean's protests in the background. "You know when he gets this way…"

"I know, dad."

"I already arranged a ride, don't take too long packing." John's voice was back to normal when he broke the connection.

"Thanks," Sam said, handing the phone back to the receptionist. He walked back towards the dorm room he'd been sharing for the week. Sam shoved his things into his backpack and wondered what to do next, when someone knocked on the door. His debate coach was standing outside the door. "Mr. Edwards?"

"Your dad asked me to drive you home, Sam. He said your brother was sick?" The man's voice was full of worried compassion.

"Yeah. Dad said it wasn't serious, but, well Dean can get a little funny with a fever," he said, talking nervously, trying to still the shaking of his hands. _How long has it been since Dean was sick? Four years? He had pneumonia four years ago._

"Funny?" Edwards said as he led Sam to his car.

"Yeah. Last time he was convinced fairies were after him." Sam chuckled. _Of course, worries like that are a little more real to us than most people. _

"Your dad can't take care of it?"

Sam swallowed and looked out the window, then shrugged. "Dean…" He stopped, wondering how much he should say. The Winchester code of "loose lips sink ships" suddenly at the front of his mind.

To his surprise his coach sighed sadly. "My brother…Well, when he was sick, I was the only one who he'd let close to him."

"Really?" Sam asked curiously.

"Yeah," the man glanced over, Sam was surprised to see the bright edges of tears in Edwards eyes. "When he was…" He cleared his throat. "When…the last days, he was really out of his mind, he wouldn't even let the nurses near him most of the time. I stayed with him. He said the only thing that kept him sane was knowing I was there. I kept a hand on his arm, letting him know I was there, even when he was sleeping. I…I was there when he…" He scrubbed one hand over his face. "Brothers, they're a pain in the ass aren't they?"

"Yeah," Sam said. He was quiet, watching the scenery go by. _Was that story supposed to make me feel better? It didn't. Dean's okay, it'll turn out to be just flu or something, just enough to get his temperature up enough to make him loopy. Mr. Edwards' brother died? No, Dean isn't dying. He just has the flu and dad doesn't want to deal with him. More to the point, he can't deal with him. I think it bothers dad that I'm the only one…_

"Here we go." The coach had pulled up in front of the apartment building they were staying in. "Sam?" he said as Sam opened the door. "If you need anything, you call. I understand. Okay?"

"Thanks." Sam grabbed his backpack and walked up the stairs to the apartment, his slow steps became a run when he heard raised voices. _Shit. _He threw the door open, Dean was standing in the hallway, facing John, a set look of fury on his face.

"I told you…" Dean's face was bright red, his eyes glassy with fever.

"Get back to bed…"

Dean lurched towards their father, before John could react, before Sam could reach the two of them, Dean had swung. It was a hard swing, and unexpected, John staggered back from Dean, rubbing his face. The swing had unbalanced Dean and Sam caught his brother as he fell.

"Sammy?"

"You need to be in bed, Dean," Sam said, keeping his voice level. Dean was burning up, Sam could feel tremors running through his brother's body as he hauled Dean back to his feet.

"You shouldn't have come, I'm fine," Dean said as Sam helped him back to their bedroom. "I'm fine," he repeated as he dropped onto the bed. Sam pulled the covers over his brother.

"It's over tomorrow, Dean, it was getting boring anyway." Sam sat on the edge of the bed.

"I'm fine."

Sam raised his eyebrows and looked at Dean.

"I'm fine."

Sam put his hand on Dean's forehead. _My god, Dean. _

"I'm fine."

Sam got up, went in the bathroom, grabbed the thermometer and shoved it under Dean's tongue. When it beeped, he looked at it, up at Dean, back down and then up again.

"I'm fine."

"Right, 102 is fine, Dean."

"Just fine."

"Hitting dad is fine, too."

"Hitting…? That wasn't a dream?" Dean looked at him. "Huh. I kind of thought that was a dream. Something about…huh…"

"Have you taken anything?" Sam said, grabbing the Tylenol from the bedside table. _I know the answer, Dean, so don't even try to say…_

"Yeah, I did."

"When?

"Uh…" Dean smiled. "Fine, give me more." Sam gave him the pills and handed him a glass of water. "Thanks," he said grudgingly.

"I'll make something to eat, I'll be in the kitchen, okay, Dean?"

"I'm fine, Sam," Dean huffed before turning on the TV.

Sam smiled at Dean and walked into the kitchen. John was sitting at the table, staring into a cup of coffee. "Dad?"

"How's your brother?"

"I got him to take some Tylenol. I'll make some tomato soup."

"I tried that already." John gestured towards the wall, a large splash of red was still visible by the door to the kitchen. "He didn't want to drink blood."

"He has a fever." Sam grinned. "It makes him crazy."

"Always has." A gentle smile crossed his father's face. "Your mom did too, not like Dean, but she was always a little funny when she had a fever."

"I think we all are, dad." Sam opened a can of soup and put the pan on the stove. "What's going on?"

"We went out hunting over the weekend. Figured since you were off at camp…"

"I'm sixteen, you can leave me home alone," Sam said, his voice sharp.

"I know, but Dean…" John shrugged. "We went out hunting. I think he got into something while we were out. When we got back he said he had a headache. Next morning he said he was stiff, then a sore throat…"

"This started Sunday? Or Monday?" Sam snapped.

"Monday," John answered.

"How long has the fever been going on, dad?"

"Day or two, no more."

_A day or two, dad? This could be serious. You and the suck it up Winchester. Dean could be sick, really sick and you…_Sam took a deep breath. "Must have been fun."

"Very." John sighed. "I'm sorry I called, but…"

"I understand, dad." Sam poured the soup into a cup. "I'll sit with him."

"Thanks."

Dean was watching television when Sam walked back into the room. He looked over and smiled. "What's that?"

"Tomato soup." Sam handed him the cup.

"Thanks, Sammy," Dean said as he scooted up enough to drink the soup.

"Sure, Dean." He sat down on his bed and looked over at Dean. "Tell me about it."

"Not much to tell. Caught a cold or something."

"A cold?"

"Something like that, I'm fine. Dad shouldn't have called." Dean took a drink of soup. "Tastes good."

"I left the blood out."

"What?"

"Never mind. What are you watching?" Sam turned around so he could watch the television and still keep an eye on Dean.

"Movie monster marathon. 'Tarantula' is next." Dean smiled. "I'm okay, Sammy."

"Right." Sam leaned back on the bed, watching the movie with his brother. Dean eventually nodded off and Sam slipped back into the kitchen to make himself dinner. Their father was sitting in the living room going through his journal. Sam wandered in and sat down across from John.

"No!" Dean's voice drifted down the hall, there was a note of panic in his voice. "Sammy?! No!" Sam was up and moving. "Sam!"

As he rounded the corner of the door, something caught his eye, just in time. "Dad, down," Sam shouted to his father who had followed his mad dash down the hallway. The sound of the .45 shattered the quiet apartment as the bullet ripped through the doorframe where Sam had been standing.

**Present**

"You never…" Dean broke into his brother's narrative. "I could have killed you, Sam." He looked at Sam, trying to remember that night years before. A brief vision of Sam covered in blood floated through the haze. _Is that a memory? Or something left over from the fever? Do I want to know? _

"You didn't know what you were doing, Dean."

"Me and fevers, eh?" Dean opened his eyes and tried to smile. Sam was swimming in and out of focus and every once in awhile his brother's eyes would glitter black. Dean took a deep breath, pushing the visions away. _It's the fever. It's just the fever. _

"Yeah," Sam said with a sigh. "Doctor?" He looked up as the tall woman came into the room.

She smiled at them, calm compassion. _Oh, that look is so not good. Sorry, Sam. _"Mr. Strummer…"

"Yeah?" Dean said, watching his brother. Sam had paled.

"We are going to change your treatment, see if you'll respond better to something different."

"Why?" Sam snapped. _Calm down, Sam._

"We've encountered some problems and we think something else might work better."

"Problems?" Sam said, his voice still hard. _Uh, hello? I am lying right here, Sam. I can ask questions for myself. _Dean glanced at the doctor, black eyes glittered at him, blood dripped down the doctor's face. _Or maybe not._

"Dean isn't responding as well as we hoped and we think this will work better," she said gently.

"What does that mean?" Sam persisted.

"The infection is continuing to spread."

"His fever is still going up, too."

"Yes, we are working on that, we think a different treatment will help."

"You know I'm lying here, right?" Dean said, ignoring the huge gash that had appeared in the doctor's neck.

She smiled at him. "We'll get you started here in a moment."

"What about the other doctor?" Dean asked.

"What other doctor?" She frowned suddenly, glancing nervously at the door.

"The man? I heard a man's voice discussing my case." Dean stopped. _Or maybe I imagined it? _

"I'm the only doctor assigned to your case," she snapped. "The nurse will be in." She turned and quickly left the room.

"What was that about, Dean?" Sam asked, looking at him.

"I thought I heard, before…he said something about losing someone before, about stopping me before…He didn't finish, but it sounded bad." Dean sighed. "It's the fever, isn't it? I'm starting to get paranoid."

"You always do." Sam tried smiling, Dean could see worry painted on his brother's face.

"Yeah. Sammy…" He shifted a little, trying to get his hand a little more comfortable. The joints in his hand were aching with a hot pulsing sensation. "If this goes bad…"

"Don't even start that. I won't listen." Sam stood and paced over to the window.

"Sam…"

"Dean, no. Just no. Don't bring it up, no jokes about the Impala, no cracks about nurses, nothing. No. Not funny, not hearing it."

"But…"

"Damn it, Dean. No." Sam stood with his back to him. Dean could see the tension is his brother's muscles as he stood at the window. "I won't hear it. You are going to be okay, you are going to get out of here."

_Okay, how do I talk myself out of this? How do I get him to listen?_ Sam's head had suddenly started oozing blood, the bright color running down his neck and shoulders. Dean blinked. There was movement at the corner of his eye, something flitting in and out of the room, a voice had started whispering to him.

"Sam, come here." Sam stayed by the window. Dean took a breath. "Sam, I said come here and sit down." Sam turned and walked with dragging steps to Dean. _Score one for big brother. Sam? _Sam's eyes were black, shading to red. _It's the fever? No. I…_"This is bad, Sammy."

"I know, Dean," Sam said, the words grating out of him.

"I…" Dean took another breath, not wanting to worry his brother, but suddenly needing to voice his growing fear that something was seriously wrong—something more than just a fever, something more than the infection. "There's something wrong, Sam."

Sam laughed, a choked, strangled sound. "Something's wrong, Dean? Really?"

"No, I mean more than just the fever and the infection."

"Just? Dean—my god Dean do you realize what they told me?"

"Sammy? What?"

"Dean, you're…they said…septic…they said the infection…"

"Sam? You're the smart one. Complete sentences would help."

Sam took a deep breath, Dean watched as his brother got himself under control again. "They said it was serious. I…"

"Sam?"

"I tried to call dad."

_That serious? Am I dying, Sammy? If I ask will you tell me? _"He didn't answer?" Dean shook his head. "There's more going on, I think," he said a little desperately, trying to get through to his brother. A knife handle was sticking out of Sam's chest. "The fever—it feels different."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, frowning.

_Wipe that look of your face, Sam, or I'll kill you. _The vision of his own hand running the knife into Sam made him stop for a moment, breathing hard, his heart pounding with a combination of fear and rage. "This is different, I'm seeing things."

Sam patted his arm gently. "You always do, Dean."

"No, Sam, this feels different. I…it's different."

"It's the fever, and probably a little of the drugs they are giving you. They had to give you a pretty good dose to relax you earlier."

"No, it's different."

"Dean?" Sam put a hand on his shoulder. "Calm down."

Dean struggled against the restraints. He could feel his arms still held down, but he could also see his hand, he knew it was his, plunging a knife again and again into his brother's body. "Sam, please!" he heard his voice shouting. Sam was trying to talk to him, blood flowing out of a slash in his neck. Dean could hear someone else screaming, he didn't recognize the voice. "Different. Something's wrong, Sam, please." He forced the words out through the visions, through the screams surrounding him.

"Dean, calm down."

"Don't let me hurt you," Dean said. "Different, Sam, it's different." Other people were there, glittering black eyes staring at him, the man was there, his accented voice talking to them, talking to Sam, telling him something. The words made no sense. "Sam, don't leave."

"I'm here," his brother's voice came from a long way. "I understand Dean, I'll see what I can find out."

"Promise?" Dean asked. He heard his voice calmly talking to Sam, but he knew he was fighting the restraints, screaming to escape the room and the monsters holding him captive.

"Promise, Dean."

Darkness was suddenly creeping up on him, his body relaxing despite his efforts, despite his struggle. _Please, Sam, please. _Everything had faded except for Sam's hand resting on his arm.

_Please, Sam, before it's too late._

_**To Be Continued**_


	4. Chapter 4

**Feral**

**Chapter Four**

The nightmare had him firmly in its claws, tearing flesh from bone, a trail of blood flowing behind him. The world was full of screams, hands, glittering eyes, knives and violence. It pulled him along, at times unwilling, at others an exultant participant. Blood splattered everything around him, his face running with droplets. He could taste the salty-coppery flavor in his mouth. It was good, he was free, running wild, nothing to stop him. He could serve out death and nothing, no one, was there to make it halt. It was exhilarating, it was terrifying. Screams again, tearing into his skull, pulling him back towards reality. Someone was fighting him, he struck out and ran, racing away from the monsters behind him.

"No, stay back!" a voice filtered into the dream. The voice stopped him. It sounded familiar. "I said stay back," the voice growled.

He knew, somehow, that the voice was not growling at him, it was growling at someone else. He listened for a minute. The wall of blood in front of him slowly dissolved into a wall. There was a little blood on it, but it was a green wall, just a green wall, not a wall of blood and screams. Dean took a deep breath. The blood was his, something in his mind told him it was his. He blinked trying to clear his foggy vision.

"Stay back," Sam growled again.

Dean blinked again, trying to focus on the wall. He took another deep breath and pushed away from the wall, turning he saw Sam standing in front of two large security guards, one had a gun drawn. "Sammy?" Dean said, his voice was harsh, his throat sore.

"Dean?" Sam held a hand out to him, the beginnings of a large bruise marring Sam's face.

"Sammy?" Dean blinked again, the walls were slowly melting again, blood pouring down from the ceiling.

"It's okay, Dean," Sam said, his voice gentle, cajoling.

"Sam?" The blood was pooling around his feet.

Sam took a step forwards and wrapped his hand around Dean's arm. "Come with me, Dean."

"Okay." Dean let himself be led down the corridor towards his room. _How did I get out here? Where is all that blood coming from? _Panic flared in his chest, he slowed his pace.

"No, Dean, it's okay," Sam said, squeezing his arm. "Come with me, it's okay."

Dean stumbled, Sam caught him. "Sammy? Where's all the blood coming from?" he asked.

"Blood?"

"It's everywhere, where is it coming from?"

"Dean, it's okay, it's the fever, there's no blood."

"Someone's screaming." Dean followed Sam into the room. His brother helped him lie down on the bed. "Can you make them stop?"

Sam put his hand on Dean's head. "Yeah, Dean, I'll make them stop." Sam nodded to someone. Dean caught movement in the corner of his eye.

"Sammy?" Dean said, fear in his voice.

"This will help, Dean, I promise," Sam said quietly. "It's okay, he won't hurt you." Sam was talking to someone in the room. Dean turned his head, there was a nurse standing by the bed. She had a syringe in her hand.

"Sammy?" Dean's heart started pounding as she approached. "Are they…will that…?" The liquid slid out of the syringe into the tube in his arm. He felt an odd pressure at the back of his neck. "Sammy?"

"It's okay, Dean, it'll make you sleep, that's all."

"No, Sam, please, no…" Tears tracked down his face, he could feel them as his eyelids got heavy. His head felt like it weighed a ton, he closed his eyes. Sam was still talking to him, his voice soft, gentle. _Sam wouldn't let them hurt me…_"Sleepy, Sam."

"It's okay, Dean. I'll be right here," Sam said. He kept talking, but his voice, like everything else faded into nothing.

**XXX**

Sam sank down into the chair beside the bed, his head in his hands. He could feel the tremors running through his body, the result of a huge rush of adrenaline combined with terror. Taking a deep breath, he tried to still the shaking. It wasn't working.

"Mr. Strummer?" he recognized the doctor's voice.

"Sam," he said through his hands.

"We need to keep your brother sedated," she said.

Sam looked up at her. "I thought he already was." Anger flared, a burning flame in his chest. "You said he needed to be sedated the last time."

"We…" She started, then stopped herself. "I'm sorry. He…We underestimated the affects of the fever." She smiled, her calm smile was quickly giving way. Sam could see fear in her eyes.

"How long will he have to be sedated like this?" Sam gestured at the unmoving figure on the bed. _Oh, god. _He turned his eyes away from the nurse strapping Dean into the restraints.

"He'll be out for five or six hours, but after that he'll be conscious. Sleepy, but awake. We just want to keep him calm."

"Does he have to be restrained?"

"Yes, until we're sure he's not a danger to himself or others," she said.

"What about his hand? Does it have to be in restraints?" Sam pointed to Dean. His brother's right hand was hugely swollen, a bright purple red. Pus was oozing from the wounds on Dean's finger, the knuckle on the finger turning an odd color.

"No, not that hand," she stepped forwards and carefully examined the appendage in question. "He couldn't use it anyway."

"Doctor…"

"Yes?"

"How bad is he?" Sam put his hand on Dean's arm, feeling the heat, aware the arm was even hotter than it had been when he'd pulled Dean through the hallway.

"We're doing our best," she said.

"Is my brother dying?" Sam wasn't sure what made him ask. _Say no, please say no, please say no, please say no._

"We're doing our best."

_WHAT KIND OF ANSWER IS THAT?_ "When…" Sam stopped. "Do you think the new treatment will help?"

"We're hoping he'll respond."

"Can you tell me anything?" he said, trying to keep his voice calm. "Why is this happening? Anything?"

"We don't know." She shook her heard. "I'm sorry, we're doing our best."

Sam shook his head, trying to quell the urge to scream at the doctor, slap the doctor or anything that might wipe the calm off her face and make her talk to him. _I wonder if Dean's fever is wearing off on me?_ Sam felt a small smile on his face. He took a deep breath. "Please, can you tell me something? Anything? I need to call our father and let him know… And if I could give him more information…" Sam looked at her beseechingly, hoping what Dean called "the look" would work. _"That look you do sometimes, Sammy, you could score every night." _

The doctor sighed suddenly, the smile dropping from her face. "I…" She looked at the floor for a minute. "The infection is getting worse, there is a possibility of septic arthritis. I don't understand why it's…" She stopped herself. "I…" She looked at him. "It's happening again."

"Doctor?" Sam said. _What? What's happening again?_

"We've had…"

"Doctor?" Sam said calmly. _If I seem calm, maybe she'll talk to me. If I start screaming, which is what I want to do, I doubt it will help._

"I've treated several people with cat bites this year, two of them…" She broke off and swallowed. The look she gave Sam was bleak.

"Yes?" _Oh, god, oh no. Oh, please no._

"It was bad."

"Was it like this? Like Dean?" Sam looked at the doctor. _You mean this happened before? It's not just Dean? Well? WANT TO TELL ME?_

"The first one, he…well he didn't respond—he dropped into a coma and died. The second…" She stopped, looking nervously at the door.

"Doctor?"

"He…" She looked towards the door again. Sam saw a tall man in a doctor's coat stop by the nurses' station and then move on. "I have to go," she said. "The nurse will be in to check on your brother in a few minutes." She turned and left, heading down the hallway towards the cafeteria.

Sam watched her go. "Do I follow her or him? Any ideas?" Sam looked at Dean. "A little help would be nice, Dean." Sam sighed. "I need to get dad's journal and the computer." Sam looked at his watch. _It's four blocks there, if I walk…She said he would be out for six hours, so if I hurry…_ "I'll be back in half an hour, okay?" He put his hand on Dean's arm and gave it a little squeeze. "I'll be right back."

As Sam walked out of the hospital he pulled his cell phone out and dialed their father's number again. The phone rang and went to voice mail, clamping down on the anger that suddenly flared, he took a deep breath. "It's Sam again, dad. Dean's in bad shape, I…I think there's something more going on than a cat bite. I need help, dad, please."

Sam broke the connection with a little more violence than was good for the phone. He shoved it back in his pocket and paced down the street. _Dean said it was different—is he right? Did I…oh god, did I ignore something because he always gets delusional with a fever? He does get bad during a fever, but has he ever been this bad? He was…_Unbidden came the images from the hospital.

_It started with screams. Dean's screams. Still unconscious, Dean had started screaming. Staff ran into the room and tried to hold him down. Dean opened his eyes, frantically struggling against the nurses, threw them off and with one look around the hospital room, bolted for the door. Sam managed to stop him by the door, but Dean hit him and put him down for a minute. Shaking off the punch, Sam staggered to his feet and pursued his brother down the hall. Two security guards burst through the door, one drew his weapon. Dean ran into the wall at the end of the hallway and stopped. Sam stood motionless, trying to talk to Dean, trying to keep everyone back, hoping his voice would somehow reach his brother…_

Sam took a deep breath and pushed the memories away. Trying to shove them far enough from his conscious mind so he wouldn't have to look at them again. _What's going on with Dean?_

Sam reached the motel and opened the door to the room. He dug through his things and dragged out their father's journal and shoved it into his computer bag. Picking up the bag, he turned to leave, then stopped. He walked over to Dean's bag. Someone had gone through the bag, scattering items on the bed. _And I'm pretty sure the bag was on the table when I left. What's missing? _Sam started putting items back in the bag. _His toiletry bag is missing. _Sam looked in the bathroom. Dean's things weren't there either. _Maybe it fell out in the trunk? _He sighed. _Who am I kidding?_

Sam picked up the computer bag again and walked out. As he closed the door he slid a small piece of paper in the jam, after carefully closing the door, he headed towards the office. "Hi," he said as he walked in. "Has housekeeping been in my room today?"

"No, dear, why?" the woman asked with a little frown. "You had the do not disturb sign up."

"I just need a few more towels," Sam said, hoping it sounded natural. _Then who was in our room?_ "No hurry, though, I have to get back to the hospital."

"How's your brother?"

"He's…" Sam swallowed.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said. "What happened?"

"Cat bite," Sam snapped the words out. _It's a cat, Dean, a cat named Fluffers. Are you going to let a cat named Fluffers take you out?_

"Cat bite?" She frowned in concern. "Oh dear!"

There was something in her tone that made the alarm bells ring in Sam's head. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, well, it's just…" She looked around. "I don't like to gossip you know…"

_Of course you don't. _Sam smiled and tried the look again. "But…?"

"Well, I heard from Carrie Noel that her neighbor Pam, that poor woman who was murdered in her home? Well, anyway, Carrie told me that Pam's husband had been bitten by a cat…I guess it was rabid or something, because a day or two after he was bitten he killed her. Just carved her up like a side of beef." She sighed with mock horror. "Then…"

"Yes?" Sam said, his heart pounding.

"Then he went and killed four of her cousins. Carved them up too."

"What happened to him?" _If I could talk to him…_

"Oh, the police shot him. He charged them and they shot him."

"I never saw it in the newspaper," Sam said, thinking back on the research he'd done before they came.

"Oh, Chris and Pam were best friends with the editor of the paper. He kept all of that out of there, just nice obituaries. I heard that he even tried to stop any information from getting out."

"Really?"

"Really," she nodded solemnly. "They were in church together, I know. Not the church I go to, but that big one over at the edge of town." She sniffed. "Those kind tend to stick together."

"Those kind?"

"Well, most of them are wealthy and don't mix with the rest of us. A lot of them came to town with the building boom about eight years ago." She smiled at him. "But I shouldn't gossip."

"No, you were just talking to a friend," he winked at her. "I need to get back to Dean."

"Tell him he's in my thoughts." She smiled and gave his hand a little pat.

"I will, thank you," Sam turned to leave. He heard her humming as he walked out the door.

It was starting to rain by the time Sam got back to the hospital. _I should have driven, but I think I needed the walk to clear my brain. _He wandered back through the corridors. The woman he'd seen crying in the cafeteria passed him and pushed the door of the chapel open, disappearing into the dark room. Sam paused by the door for a moment, his hand resting on the wall. _Should I go in? I feel like I should. Why? Huh. _Sam pushed the door open, hoping he wouldn't disturb the woman.

The chapel was empty.

Sam looked around. There was only one door to the small room and no windows. He walked around the room, letting his hand run along the walls, looking for any evidence of another, hidden, door. The walls were solid. Sam walked back to the door and turned to the room one more time. _Think she's hiding under the rug? _He shook his head and walked out into the corridor. _That's all we need._

Shift had changed while Sam was gone. A blond nurse was sitting at the station. Sam smiled at her and walked into Dean's room. His brother hadn't moved. Sam breathed out a sigh of relief. He settled himself in the chair beside the bed and pulled out John's journal. _It would help if I had some idea of what I'm looking for. _He started flipping through the pages, stopping on every entry that dealt with animals of any kind. _Were-cat? No, lunar cycle is off. And this doesn't look like that…Spirit animal…demon…zombie…_He sighed. _I don't even know where to…_

"Smmm?" It sounded a little like a groan. Sam looked over at the bed. "Smmy?"

"Dean?" _This is not even close to two hours, I thought she said five or six. _

"Smm?"

"Dean?" Sam put his hand on his brother's arm. "I'm here."

Dean's left eye slid open, then the right. He blinked and turned his head to focus on Sam. "Sam?"

"Hey, Dean." Sam smiled. _Oh god, oh god, oh god. _Dean's eyes were glassy and bloodshot. Sam could see confusion and pain in his brother's eyes.

"Hey," Dean said, trying to shift in the bed.

"How do you feel?" _Dumb question of the week?_

"I don't," Dean said with a frown.

"What?"

"I don't really feel anything." Dean smiled a little. Then Sam saw a tiny glimmer of panic. "I'm restrained?" The words were a little indistinct but Sam understood what Dean was saying.

"Yeah, Dean, I'm sorry."

"Did I hurt someone?" When Sam hesitated, Dean looked at him. "Sammy? What happened to your face?"

"Dean…"

"Did I do that? Sam?" Dean sounded agitated.

"You didn't know what was happening," Sam said gently, giving his brother's arm a little squeeze. "I got in the way."

"God, Sam…" Dean's eyes closed. "Drugged, too?"

"Yeah, you shouldn't even be awake yet."

"They made me, said…"

"Dean? What?" _Who made you? Dean?_

His brother's left eye opened again. "Might be going insane."

"Tell me."

"Eyes, I see eyes and blood and screams everywhere."

"You see screams?"

"Told you I'm going insane."

"I don't think so."

"Just the fever?" Dean said, his eye closing again.

"No, Dean, you're right. There is something else going on. I got the computer. I'm going to head to the cafeteria to do some research, but I wanted to be here when you woke up."

"Just in case?"

Sam smiled and let the smile creep into his voice. "Yeah, just in case."

"Thanks, Sammy." Dean sighed. "I…need…too…"

"Sleep, Dean, it's okay. I won't go far."

"Kay…Smmm…" Dean relaxed with another sigh.

Sam kept his hand on Dean's arm for several minutes before standing. "I'm going to the cafeteria, I'll be back in half an hour." He walked out of the room—and into Dean's doctor standing in the hallway.

"I heard voices," she said.

"I was talking to Dean."

"Impossible," she said. "Impossible."

"He was awake and talking," Sam insisted.

"No." She shook her head. "Impossible." She walked into the room, Sam trailed after her. He watched her perform a series of tests, shaking her head the whole time. She looked up at Sam. "Impossible."

"He…" Sam closed his mouth. "I'll be right back." Sam headed down the corridor to the cafeteria. He got a cup of coffee and sat at a table near the windows. Opening his laptop he started surfing, he finally found a small newspaper article from a neighboring town. "Man kills wife, four others" Sam read the story twice before looking up the number of the paper. There was no byline on the story, so Sam asked for the reporter on the police beat.

"Charlie Allnut," a woman's voice answered on the third ring.

"Hi, uh, I have a question on an article that was in the paper?" Sam said. _Wow, I sound smooth._

"Sure, that's what I'm here for, everybody's freaking answer girl."

"I wanted to know who covered a story about a man who killed his wife and four other people?" Sam said, hearing a little huff in his voice. "There was no byline."

"Bylines are for kids, I only put one on if it's important."

"And this story wasn't?"

"Murder, sure, always a fun day at the office, but I was lucky to get that story in at all. I managed to sneak it in after the whole page was over in composing."

"Can you tell me more about it?" Sam asked.

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. "Why?"

"I'm doing research on local murders for a book." Sam used his standard excuse.

"I have an internal lie detector, want to try again?"

"I..." Sam paused. _How much do I tell her? How much is too much information? Dean is probably dying, anything that can help…_ "My brother…He was…"

"Can you meet me in an hour? There's a bar called the Coyote Café. I'll be the one carrying a book with a flower in it." She chuckled. "Seriously though, when you get there ask for me, the bartender knows me. What's your name?"

"Sam Strummer."

"Strummer? I mentioned that internal lie detector, right? I'll just call you Clash, how's that?" She laughed again. "See you in an hour, Clash."

Sam broke the connection and looked up the address of the bar. A thought occurred to him and he typed the reporter's name into the search engine. _Ah ha, I thought that name sounded familiar. Dean would have known right off. Dean? A little help here would be nice. _Sam glanced at the clock in the corner of the screen. _Oops. _He'd been in the cafeteria for almost two hours, snapping the laptop closed he headed back to Dean's room.

The doctor was in the room again, running the same tests Sam had seen her running earlier. Sam watched for a minute, she finished what she was doing and straightened. Her face was grim as she turned to face Sam.

"I need to leave for a little while, will Dean be okay?" he asked her. "I mean…"

She shook her head. "Nothing to worry about now."

"What?" _What?? WHAT??_

"You don't need to worry about him, uh, getting loose again."

Sam was sure his heart had stopped beating. "Why?"

"Your brother is in a coma."

"What?" _I shouldn't have left him, I should have stayed._

"I'm sorry." She walked towards the door.

"Doctor?"

"Yes?"

"Is this like the other one? The one you mentioned earlier?"

"Yes. I'm, sorry."

_No. Oh, god no. _

Sam forced himself over to his brother's bed. "Dean? Come on, man. I need you here, I need your help." Sam sighed. "I can't do this without you." _I won't Dean. _

Clearing his throat, aware of the tears that had started trickling down his cheek, he put his hand on his brother's arm. "Dean if you let a cat named Fluffers take you out, I swear I'll…" He could hear his voice breaking. "I'll take the Impala and run her into the first telephone pole I see and… and when you show up to haunt me? I'll make fun of you for getting taken down by Fluffers. Every day, Dean. And I'll let every spirit, demon and creature of the night know what took you out. Hear me Dean?"

Sam squeezed his brother's arm gently. "Please, Dean, hang on. I can figure this out. Just hang on, okay?"

_Dean? Please. _

_**To Be Continued**_


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: I meant to have this chapter up a little sooner, but I am back on bed rest and after being busted with the computer in bed it was taken away and the internet unplugged at the source. I'm allowed a very few hours a day. Thank you to heather03nmg for medical advice. I'll catch up on review replies soon! Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing._

**Feral**

**Chapter Five**

The hospital room was quiet, only the soft hiss of oxygen and the beep of the heart monitor breaking the silence. Sam could hear a conversation in the hallway and a television from the next room. He was still standing beside Dean's bed, tears streaking down his face as he looked at his brother. "Don't do this, Dean," he whispered. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he sighed. "I have to go. I'll be back as soon as I can." _I don't want to leave, but I have to, I have to find out what's going on. _"Be here when I get back, okay, Dean?" He patted Dean's arm and walked out of the room, resisting the urge to look back to make sure everything was still okay.

Sam walked quickly out of the building pausing as he passed the espresso stand. _No, I can get one when I get to the meeting. _Opening the door of the Impala, he dropped into the driver's seat and let his head rest on the steering wheel for a moment. _How does a cat bite…I should know better, anything can be more than it seems. Even something as innocuous as a mirror can harbor a killer. I know that. _He started the car, finding comfort in the rumble of the large engine, purring happily under the hood. Pulling the car out was easier this time, the spot next to him was empty. He glanced at the directions to the Coyote Café, turned left at the light and headed out of town.

He parked in front of the café ten minutes later. It had been easier to find than he thought. In a neighborhood of very uniform buildings the Coyote Café stuck out like a sore thumb—a sore thumb that was an odd combination of Art Deco and adobe. The stucco walls were painted a combination of pink and sea-green, the windows were Deco stained glass and the sign boasted Deco letters and a coyote wearing a bright pink scarf.

Sam pushed the door open, the café was nearly empty. A lone couple sat near a window, a man in a dark suit was at the bar. Sam walked towards the back, where a woman, looking to be in her early forties, sat. A book with a flower sat in a prominent place on the table. He smiled in spite of himself.

"Hi," he said, stopping beside the table.

"Clash?" she said, looking up at him.

"Bogie?"

"Caught that, did you? Always nice to have a pen name, makes it hard for disgruntled readers to find you. Most people never make the Charlie Allnut connection, you know." She smiled. "Sit down."

"They don't?" Sam asked.

"Most people don't remember last week, let alone a movie from the fifties, or a book even older than that. Good job, Clash."

"It's Sam," he said. She met his eyes with a smile, daring him to lie to her. "Sam Winchester."

"Like the gun? Nice. Gayle Richardson," she held out a hand. Sam took it.

"Not Charlie Allnut?" Sam asked as he sat down.

"No, I found out a long time ago not using the real name is a good thing, and one that sounds male…" She shrugged. "It gets under my skin, but sadly, it's still a fact."

"Really?" Sam said absently.

"Yeah, sucks." She smiled. "I ordered you coffee, hope you don't mind. My brain starts to shut down if I go longer than half an hour without a cup."

"Thank you," Sam said. "About the murders?"

"Small talk's over? Good. Hate small talk. Thanks, Stu," she said as the waiter set coffees down on the table. "The murders…"

"Yes?"

"Why do you care?"

Sam looked at her. He had gotten pretty good at reading people over the years, good at knowing who to trust. _Not as good as Dean. Of course his solution? Just don't trust anyone. I think I can trust her. I have to take the chance. Dean is dying. _"My brother…he was bitten by a cat and…"

"Yeah? Cat bite, big deal."

Sam ground his teeth together. "We were at the Sill house and he was bitten by a cat."

Her eyes narrowed. "Was he bitten by Fluffers?" Sam nodded. "How bad is he?"

"His hand is infected…"

"Septic arthritis?" she broke in.

"Yeah. His fever is up…"

"Delusions? Increasing violence?"

"Why don't you just tell me what's going on with him," Sam huffed.

"Sedation won't keep him down. He's either in a coma or soon will be. Non-responsive, nearly dead, infection is not responding…" Gayle stopped, looking at him. "Am I close?"

"Too close. I need to know about the murders," he said earnestly.

"The first victim of Fluffers was actually Tom Wilson, son of Pam Sill by a previous marriage. He was bitten, died in the hospital a few days later. Next bite was Chris Sill, current husband of the victim. He was in the hospital, then escaped. Before the cops could catch up with him he'd carved his wife into about eighteen pieces. They never found her left hand. After he finished with her, he went up the block and killed four of her cousins, a couple and their two teenage sons. Cops caught him, he charged them with an axe and they gunned him down, no choice. Although I understand from a doctor friend of mine he wouldn't have lasted long anyway. The infection had gotten to the point that…" She stopped. "What?"

"Nothing." _Oh, god, Dean. _"Can you tell me anything else?"

"No one knows how he escaped from the hospital. He was restrained, sedated and in a coma but he got out somehow. Cop on the scene said he was like a wild animal. Your turn."

"What?"

"I'm a reporter, hon, I don't give without getting. And someone asking about these murders, someone with a brother coincidentally bitten by Fluffers, a murder victims cat? Makes my newsgal sense all tingly."

"Uh…" Sam paused. "You…"

"Wouldn't believe it?"

"Something like that."

"Funny thing about the Sill house, you know…" she said, sipping her coffee. "Heard it was haunted until a couple of days ago."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, and someone saw a car there, a sixties model Impala four door." She got up and walked across the restaurant and looked out the window. She turned back to him with a smile. "A car remarkably like the one parked out there. Want to tell me about it?" Gayle sat back down and picked up her coffee again, peering at him over the rim of the cup. "Well?"

"The house was haunted?" Sam asked, picking up his own coffee.

"Don't bother with the 'things like that don't exist' lecture, hon. I've been a reporter for a long time, seen a lot of strange things."

"But nothing to make you believe…" Sam stopped himself, the image of Dean's mocking grin painted in his brain. _If he knew…I did…I quoted "Star Wars." He'd never let me live it down. Dean? Get through this and I'll tell you about it and you can tease me forever. _Gayle was grinning at him. "Sorry. The house was haunted."

"Yeah, I told you that."

"No, I mean it _was, _it's not anymore. We found her left hand, too. That's when Dean was bitten." Sam looked at her, waiting for her to laugh it off the way most people did, she didn't. Her face was serious—nearly grim—as she listened to him. "We went back to the motel. Dean went to the ER in the morning. I didn't realize anything was wrong until too late."

"What?" she asked surprised.

"Dean's always been delusional when he gets a fever."

"Uh, hon? There's delusional and…"

"I know…" Sam felt tears sting his eyes. "But I didn't realize it until too late. He's gotten bad before, nearly this bad and I thought…god, part of me still hopes it's nothing more than a fever and the infection." The words poured out, even as part of his mind chided him for talking to a complete stranger. "How could I miss all this?" he said, more to himself than the woman sitting across from him.

"Sam…" Her voice was soft, Sam looked up at her.

"You know something more?"

"I…I'm not sure. Let me call a friend. Maybe he can help." She pulled out her phone. "Jeff? Yeah, I know. Can you come by the café? Sure." She flipped her phone closed. "He'll be able to help."

"Thanks." Sam fidgeted in his chair, absently stirring the coffee.

"Call the hospital," Gayle said as she gestured to the waiter for more coffee.

"What?" Sam looked up at her.

"Call. It's okay, Jeff won't be here for a few minutes. Check on your brother, hon."

Sam pulled out his phone and dialed, requesting the nurses station on Dean's floor. When he identified himself they put him on hold.

"Mr. Strummer? It's Dr. Knight," she said.

"Doctor? How is Dean?"

"I'm very sorry," she began. Sam felt his heart contract. _Don't be dead, Dean, please. _"Your brother…It's like last time, I'm afraid…"

"Is…he…dead?" Sam asked, not daring to breath.

"No, we would have called," she chided gently.

"But soon?" _No, please no, please say no. _"Is he dying?"

"Yes."

Sam broke the connection without another word. He could feel tears welling in his eyes. "Excuse me." He stood and walked to the bathroom. Taking a deep breath, he tried to get himself under control. Another breath didn't help, or another. The tears had broken free and were running down his cheeks. _Damn it, Dean. It's a cat bite. If you…_He couldn't go on.

**XXX**

The warm weight on his arm was there as the world faded away. Sam's voice carried him into the dark, the familiar tone of his brother's voice holding him anchored on the bed. Most of the words were only sounds, no sense in them, just sounds. Until finally something came through. "Don't do this, Dean. I have to go. I'll be back as soon as I can." There was a pause, it felt like forever before Sam's voice continued,"Be here when I get back, okay, Dean?" A quick pressure on his arm and he knew Sam was gone.

_It's just a dream, it's the fever, _Dean told himself.

The dark ocean pulled him away and he drifted in the eternity of night. At first he was alone, but as time moved on, the infinity of time, he sensed others there as well. Voices, whispering to him. Black cat eyes began glittering in the flowing night. Screams, his own voice, someone he didn't know—a woman. Then more, many more, terrible screams, tortured, anguished, cut from life unexpectedly. Blood was everywhere, pushing aside the dark and carrying him on the waves of crimson red.

_It's just a dream, it's the fever, _Dean repeated.

"Soon, soon," a voice whispered to him. "Soon, you will be free."

Freedom sounded good, intoxicating. He could roam free, feel the sun on his face again, feel the rain drop gently on his head. _I can feed. _His mind reveled in that thought. Images of blood running in front of his eyes, flesh torn from bone.

_It's just a dream, it's the fever._

"Wake," the voice whispered. "Time."

_Yes, yes, _his mind cried in delight. He growled. The sound echoing in his ears.

"Time," a female voice whispered to him. "We must make it look correct, the sacrifice must be done." He felt a burning pain on his arm, on his legs, then the warm rush of blood on his skin. "Open your eyes," she said.

_It's just a dream, it's the fever._

Opening his eyes, he looked around the room. She was undoing the restraints, carefully smearing blood on them. He sat up, her black eyes glittered back at him, he saw the bright sparkle of tears on her cheeks.

"Go, you're free." She pointed to the chair by the bed. A knife, curved like a claw, rested on the seat. "Take it and go," she said. "You know where, you know what you must do."

_It's just a dream, it's the fever._

He growled and grabbed the knife. Looking out the door, he waited until the people in the hallway were looking away and slid silently out of the room. He moved quickly to the door at the end of the hall, opening it he discovered a flight of stairs. He ran down them, aware of the cold floor under his bare feet. When he reached the end of the stairs, he pushed the door open, it led to the outside. Rain dropped from the sky. He stepped out of the building and took a deep breath. The scent of his prey caught in his nostrils, with a snarl he set out to find them.

_It's just a dream, it's the fever. It's just a dream, it's the fever._

**XXX**

The door of the bathroom was pushed open. "Hey, Clash, Jeff's here," Gayle said from the doorway. When he didn't answer she walked in and put a hand on his back. "Sam?"

Sam wiped the tears off his face. "What?"

"Jeff's here," she said quietly, grabbing a paper towel and wetting it. She handed it to him with a gentle smile. "Your brother?" Sam nodded. "Is he okay?"

"No." Sam wiped his face with the damp towel. "Thanks."

"Sure, hon."

"Isn't this the men's room?" he asked, looking at her.

"And…?" She grinned at him. "If something like a men's room door stopped me, I would never…" She stopped, her grin fading a little. "If you think something like a that will stop me…"

"Yeah?"

"You'll be disappointed. You ready?"

Sam nodded and followed her out into the restaurant. A man in a polo shirt sat at their table, his jacket hung over the back of the chair. He was wearing a shoulder holsters and Sam could clearly see the outlines of a bulletproof vest. The man stood when they reached the table, extending his hand to Sam. "Jeff Moats," he said with a broad smile.

"Sam Winchester."

"Damn," Gayle said under her breath. Sam looked down at her. "I had hopes, Clash."

"Clash?" Moats asked.

"Never mind, private joke," Gayle winked at Sam. "Stu, we need coffee. We're possibly dying over here." She patted Sam's hand when he winced. "Sorry."

Moats looked from Gayle to Sam as they waited for the coffee. "Are you going to tell me?"

"Tell you?" she asked.

"Why I'm here? You, well, I got the impression…"

"Sam's brother was bitten by Fluffers."

Moats turned to Sam. "How bad?"

"Bad," Gayle answered for him. "From the conversation I overheard a few minutes ago, bad bad."

"You're quite the wordsmith," Moats said. "How did it happen?"

"They were at the Sill place…"

"I heard someone was there," Moats said.

"It's not haunted anymore, Jeff, thanks to Sam and his brother."

"Good work," Moats smiled at him. "How'd he get bitten?"

"He reached under the kitchen counter to grab…grab her hand. Fluffers bit him and ran," Sam said.

"Not good." Moats was shaking his head.

"If you know Fluffers is a threat, why haven't you done something about it?" Sam asked angrily.

"I tried. Put five rounds into the cat myself. It stopped for a minute, turned around and charged me. I emptied the clip. It just pissed the damn cat off. Or maybe damned cat is better?" He laughed a little.

Sam looked at him. _And how, exactly are you supposed to help? None of that sounds like help. _"And?"

"And what?"

"I think he wants to know what else we know," Gayle said.

"What did you tell him?" Moats looked at her.

"Just about what happened. Thought I'd wait for you…" She smiled grimly. "He seems to understand about this kind of thing, I thought…"

"You want to use me to find out what's going on?" Sam said.

"You think he can help us find out what's going on?" Moats said at the same moment.

"Yes to both." She picked up her coffee.

"Do you understand? Or I guess more to the point believe?"

"Hello? He got rid of Pam's spirit. I think he believes," Gayle said with disgust. "Just tell him what you've found out."

Sam turned back to the cop. "What?"

Moats took a deep breath. "I've been following a trail of similar murders. There were 'incidents' two years ago in Ruthven, Iowa, ten years ago Chicago and fifty years ago in Albuquerque."

"All tied to a cat bite?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Moats leaned back in the chair. "There've been more, too, going back a long, long way."

"Tell him the rest," Gayle said.

"Getting there, Gayle," Moats said.

"I have no patience, sorry. Here's the weird part. They were all, all of them, preceded by a cat bite."

"All of them?" Sam heard the disbelief in his voice.

"All of them, back as far as we can trace it," Gayle said. "Back to Europe."

"All with the cat bite?" Sam said, shaking his head.

"More than that," Moats said with relish. "All by Fluffers."

"What? How can you be sure of that?" Sam asked. _I've done research, you know. No way they would…_

"Not always named Fluffers, but all the same animal. I've found several pictures. My favorite was…"

"Not now, Gayle." Moats turned to Sam. "Can you help us? Do you have any idea of what's going on?"

"I've done a little research, but that was just on Fluffers, before I knew there was more. Not a were-cat, not a zombie…"

"Were-cat?" Moats scoffed.

"You laugh at that and you just told me the cat is hundreds of years old?" Sam smiled. "I don't think he's a spirit animal…"

"Then what?" Gayle asked, looking at him.

"I'm not sure, I need to do more research. You said there were other murders…?"

"Yeah," Moats said. "You need into the scene? No problem."

"Can we go now?" Sam said. "I need to get back to Dean."

"Sure, follow me."

"Can I ride with you?" Gayle looked up at Sam as he stood. "It's a lovely car and Jeff can bring me back here."

"Okay," Sam said as they walked out. He opened the door and Gayle dropped in. She had the box of cassette tapes on her lap before Sam could settle in the car.

"Good stuff," she said, pawing through the tapes. "God, I haven't seen this one in years." She shoved a tape into the deck, Dio blasted out of the speakers a few second later.

"Yeah, my brother's collection," Sam said, turning the stereo down.

"He's got great taste." She pulled another tape out. "Oh, nice. This one next." Gayle looked over at him. "Tell me more about what you and your brother do."

"What we do?" He smiled at her. "We are…"

"Hear that?"

"What?" _Can't really hear anything over the music._

"That's my lie detector going off."

Sam laughed. _Hang on, Dean, just a little longer, I'll be right back. _

Ten minutes of verbal sparring later he was standing with her and Moats looking down at a blood stained carpet. _Well, a little more than stained. It was soaked. _The couch was also stained, and the wall, the door and the window sill. _Nice. _"Can I look around?"

"Why we're here," Moats said.

Sam wandered through the house. There was nothing there that gave any hint of the violence of the murders. _Except for the blood splatters. And there are a lot of splatters. _He went upstairs, through the master bedroom and the boys' rooms, still with posters on the walls. Pictures hung in the hallway. Family photos, Sam guessed. There was even a picture of the Sills and Fluffers. Several photos were old, the women and men staring sternly out from the past, grim, unyielding.

The last room he went into was an office. Sam flipped through the papers on the desk, and glanced at the books on the shelves, one, a massive family bible, caught his eye. He picked it up and glanced at the back. Someone had carefully recorded many generations in the book. He tucked it under his arm and turned to go.

Sam walked slowly down the hallway to the stairs, looking again at the photos on the wall, wondering idly which of the names in the bible would match up with those stern faces in the sepia toned pictures. He passed the last one, obviously the family who had lived in the house, and something caught his eye. Sam stopped. _Is that…? _He looked again. _I think it is. _The woman was wearing a locket identical to the one he had found at Fluffers house. Sam grabbed the picture.

"Can I take this?" Sam asked. _Crime scene, Sam, sure he'll let you take it. Right. _

"Sure," Moats said. "Don't lose it."

"You're kidding?" Sam was more than a little surprised.

"I've got multiple murders, an ancient cat that can't be killed, another victim of the cat bite…" Moats grinned. "If it'll help you can take the whole damn wall with you."

"Thanks, I need to get back to check on my brother. I'll let you know if I find anything."

"Better find something." Gayle nudged him with her shoulder. "Give me your email and I'll send you everything we have. And here's my cell number. Call."

Sam wrote his email and cell number down for her, and with a smile walked out to the car. _What's going on, the lockets…the hundreds of years old cat. _Something else was bothering him. _What is it? _He tried to let it rise to the surface, but the anxiety and fear for Dean he had managed to repress while talking with Gayle and Moats was back in full force. The need to get back to the hospital was nearing hysterical obsession. When he stopped at the traffic light by the motel, he saw someone running in the empty space behind the building. He shook his head. _I'm sure Dean would say something about all the crazies loose in the world. _Letting it play in Dean's voice made him feel better as he pulled in at the hospital.

Sam shoved the big book into a grocery sack he had and headed into the hospital. He stopped by the espresso stand and got himself a latte. He could feel a long night of research coming on and wanted to be as alert as he could manage. The gift shop was closed. As Sam rounded the corner, the woman he'd seen crying, the woman he'd followed into the chapel, walked past him, heading for a door at the end of the hallway. She glanced at Sam as she went past him. Sam turned and followed her. She opened the door and stepped through, the door slammed behind her. Sam wrenched it open, knowing she would be gone.

He followed the stairs down the single flight of seven steps, but she was gone. Sam opened the door, it led outside into a parking lot. _Emergency exit? But why no alarm? _As the door closed something caught his eye.

A bloody footprint.

He looked at the stairs. Another footprint and small drops of blood. He had no idea how he knew, but he knew. _Dean! _His mind screamed his brother's name as he ran back up the stairs and down the hall to Dean's room. _No, it can't be. He's in a coma, he's dying, he's in a coma. _The drops of blood led down the corridor. Sam ran into the room, a nurse following him in.

Bloody restraints, bloody blanket, empty bed.

Dean was gone.

_**To Be Continued**_


	6. Chapter 6

**Feral**

**Chapter Six**

_It's just a dream, it's the fever, it's just a dream. _The phrase, repeating itself over and over, was a calm voice in an ocean of blood. He was wading through blood, running through the vast river of red, letting it splash his legs as he ran free. The exhilaration filled him, carrying him along, laugher tearing itself from his throat as he sprinted out of the hospital and into the outside world.

Turning his head, he caught the scent. He ran down the sidewalk, a loud blaring horn snapped him back for an instant as the bumper of the car grazed his hip. _What the hell? _Dean looked at the woman behind the wheel for a moment before the scent pulled him away. _It's just a dream, it's the fever, it's just a dream. _Down four blocks and across a vacant lot, something dug painfully into his foot, he stopped long enough to pull the broken glass out of his heel. As soon as the glass was out, he set out after his prey again. A rumbling noise, familiar, comforting pushed the flow of blood away for a moment. _The Impala? Sam? Where are you? Are you here in my room? Why do I hear my baby? _He thought he caught a glimpse of the car as it drove along the road. _Sammy? It's just a dream, it's the fever…_

He ran on, reveling in the play of wind in his hair, the scent of fresh grass and blood filling him with joy. "Soon, soon the job is done and we are free. Finally free, after all these centuries we will be finished. My task will be done," a soft voice said in his head.

"Sam?" Dean heard his voice. His paced slowed.

"Sam's waiting, finish what you need to do, Sam's waiting," the voice said.

"Yes," Dean said and sped up. Racing towards the scent of his prey.

**XXX**

The bed was covered by a bloody blanket, the restraints that had been around Dean's wrists and ankles were covered in blood. The IV dangled by the bed, dripping, a puddle on the floor. The monitor was silent, the soft hiss of oxygen filling the room.

"Where's your brother?" a voice asked. "He shouldn't be up."

"What?" Sam turned to her. _What did she just say? _

"Your brother shouldn't be up."

"My brother…the one I was told was in a coma? Dying? That brother?" Sam said frantically calm. _Well, is that who you mean? _Sam sensed a dangerous edge to his thoughts. _Dean would hear it in my voice. _The nurse looked at him.

"Where is he?" she asked again.

"Where is he?" Sam repeated.

"Yes, he shouldn't be up," she said.

"My sedated, comatose, dying brother?" _I sound so calm, so reasonable. _

"Yes."

"I thought you might know." _Since he was here when I left. Here, in this bed, UNCONSCIOUS AND DYING WHEN I LEFT! YOU LOST HIM!! WHAT THE HELL??_ He smiled as the words screamed in his head.

"He shouldn't be up."

"Really? You think?" Sam snapped. _I sound like Dean sometimes. _"I didn't even think he could get up."

"I'll get the doctor."

"Good idea." Sam waited until she was gone before pulling out his phone and dialing the number Gayle had given.

"Charlie Allnut," she answered.

"It's Sam."

"Hey, Clash, what's up? You onto something already?"

"My brother's missing."

"From the hospital?" She paused. "Okay, I'll call Jeff so he can get on it before something happens."

"What do you mean?" Sam said, watching the doctor as she approached him.

"They shot the husband, remember? I'll call, where will you be?"

"I'm going to talk to his doctor and then…" Sam stopped. _Then what? Wait here? He's gone. _"I'll head back to the motel, room 18."

"Gotcha. Later." The connection broke with a snap.

"Mr. Strummer?" the doctor said.

"It's Sam."

"Where's your brother?" She frowned.

"He was here the last time I saw him. In fact…In fact you saw him after I left," Sam said, clenching his fists to keep his hands from shaking. The combination of terror and anger, making his heart flutter against his ribs. "You said he was dying." _You told me he was dying. In a coma…What happened? How does someone who is in a coma get up and leave? Want to tell me? HOW?_

"He is—was. If he doesn't continue the treatment the infection will kill him. I don't understand." She looked away from him, down the hallway. "I don't understand."

Sam looked at her for a minute and then walked to the door, closing it and turning back to her. "Tell me what's happening."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, trying to push past him.

Sam grabbed her arm and pushed her against the door. "I think you do, and I think you're going to tell me now," he said, his voice calm as he met her terrified eyes. "Now."

"I don't know…" She stopped. "I'm not sure, it's like the other one."

"The other one? Chris Sill?" Sam asked, she nodded. "How did Dean get out of here without anyone seeing?"

"I don't know. It happened last time, too. Just like this, blood on the restraints and he was gone."

"You look like her." Sam said suddenly.

"What?"

"The woman in the hall…" Sam paused, thinking. "The one…" Sam tightened his grip.

"What woman?"

"You're related somehow," Sam said. She tried to push free. "Who is she? What does she have to do with this?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said.

"I don't believe you."

"Too bad." The fear left her eyes, replaced by something that terrified Sam. She pulled her hand free and grabbed his neck with freakishly strong grip. Sam tried to force her hand away, but she brought the other up and began choking him. Sam saw black spots dancing in front of his eyes, he tried to fight her off, she was too strong. Consciousness was rapidly fading when someone started banging on the door. She dropped Sam and wrenched the door open, shoving aside the nurse, and sprinted down the hallway. Sam forced himself up, gasping for air and chased her. As Sam rounded the corner, he saw her run out of the building, when he reached the door the parking lot was empty.

"You won't catch her," a voice whispered from beside him. "No one can." Sam looked over, the crying women shimmered beside him, then disappeared.

Sam walked slowly back to Dean's room. _What's going on? _He retrieved his computer and the book and headed back to the motel. _The doctor's involved? And the crying woman? What does it mean? How did Dean get out? How? _The sound of the Impala's engine calmed him as he drove back. _What's going on? It has something to do with the cat. Yeah, Sam, you think? _He absently stuck the key into the lock at their room and then stopped. He checked for the sliver of paper he had slid into the door. It was gone. Sam opened the door and looked around the room—nothing looked like it had been disturbed.

He dropped his bags on the table and began methodically checking the room. Starting in the bathroom, he carefully checked in the cabinets, the tub, the toilet tank, then went back into the room. He dropped onto the floor and checked under the beds, in the bedside stand. _Nothing's missing. _Sam opened his bag. His toiletries bag was open, his brush missing. _Dean's bag was…Hair? Do they need hair? And why mine? _

Sam sat at the table, staring at the wall, letting thoughts play through his head, trying to chase a thread that was just out of reach. Finally, with a sigh, he opened the laptop. Gayle had forwarded him all her research. Sam started running through it. He'd been at it for twenty minutes when something struck him. "I think I had an ah ha moment, Dean," he said to the quiet room.

Sam pulled out the family bible he'd gotten and opened the email with the pictures of victims from the Iowa killings. Sam checked their names against the names listed in the bible. All seven names were listed in the book. _Is that it? But why? _He looked through the rest of the information about the murder victims, Gayle and Jeff had tracked them all the way back to Eastern Europe. _They're all here. They were all family. _Sam found a picture of one woman, dated 1895. She was wearing a locket like the one he'd found in the Sill house. _Like the one in that picture at the murdered families house. Okay, so they are all related, what does that mean? All from one family. What does that mean? _He pulled out his phone and called Gayle.

"That you, Clash?"

"Are there any more people related to Pam Sill living in the area?"

"I don't know, why? Jeff might know."

"Can I get his number?"

"Sure," she rattled off the number. "Keep me up to date."

"Right." Sam hung up and called the police officer. "It's Sam Winchester," he said when Jeff answered.

"I haven't found your brother."

"I…" Sam swallowed. _Dean? Be okay. Please. _"Are there any other members of the Sill family, her family not his, left in the area?"

"Yeah, I think so, farm outside of town," Moats said. "Why?"

"I think they might be in danger."

"I'll head out that way, thanks."

"I'll meet you there," Sam said firmly.

"This is cop business."

"If my brother's there…"

"You think he is? Wait, you think this is related to Fluffers?"

"I do. And if Dean is there, I might be able to get through to him."

"I doubt it, I remember when Sill went nuts."

"I can. I'm the only one who can. He gets delusional with a fever. I know this is more than that, but even so, I can get through to him."

"Are you sure?" he heard hesitation in Moats tone.

"Yes."

"Okay, take the highway out of town, turn right on Woods Road, the driveway's down about a mile on the left hand side of the road."

"Thanks." Sam shoved the phone in his pocket. He grabbed his bag, digging down to the bottom to pull out a small box. _If I can't get through to him…_Sam opened the box and took out the Sig Sauer .22 he'd purchased the summer after he left for Stanford. _I didn't want something big, this worked. Small caliber, but enough if you can shoot. _He took out the box of ammunition a friend at the gun shop had made for him. The silver-jacketed hollow points had been designed to hold herbs or rock salt. _What should I use? Maybe…_He got a glass from the bathroom and poured a small amount of Chrism in the cup. He added rock salt and mixed it together, then filled the points with the paste. He tried to load the gun. His hands were shaking too badly to get the cartridge into the clip. _I won't need this, it's just a precaution. I'll get through to him. I always can. I'll be able to this time too. _He took a deep breath, loaded the clip and snapped it into the gun.

**XXX**

_It's just a dream, it's the fever. _He left the town behind and was running through long grass. It was raining, the water cooling the fever, easing the throbbing pain in his head. He slowed when he heard the soft gurgle of running water. He followed the sound until he found a small irrigation ditch, running with muddy water. He stopped, put his feet into the water and splashed the cold liquid onto his face. Cupping his hands he drank, the water rich with the taste of the earth. He sat in the water, letting it flow over him, cooling the hot river of blood that he had been swimming through.

_Where am I? Is this part of a dream? Sam? _"Sammy?" he called out. _What's happening? _

"You must finish," a voice whispered to him.

"Finish what?" he asked the voice.

"Our task, it's been a long time, we can finish it this time," the voice said.

"No, something's wrong." Dean shifted, looking down at the muddy water, at the wickedly curved knife he held on his hand. "What the hell?" He stood and stepped out of the irrigation ditch. "Son of a bitch." He looked at his feet, the soles were cut and bloody. _Where am I? _The wind was cool against his hot skin. "Sam?" Dean looked around, he was in the middle of a field, the tall grass waving in the breeze. "Sammy?" _Is this part of the dream or am I really here. I remember last time…I was sure Sam was gone, taken by pixies, I went looking for him, I think. He started telling me about it in the hospital. Am I still there? _

Dean took a few steps, trying to get his bearings, still not sure if he was actually in the field or at the hospital trapped in a fevered dream. The wind felt real, the cold, wet hospital gown clung to his bare legs. He blinked, it was raining, he looked up at the sky. _Feels pretty damn real…but, then, it usually does. _

A crow called from a tree, the caw sounding like harsh laughter in the quiet field. Dean turned and started walking back the way he was sure he had come. The rough stones were cutting into his bruised and injured feet as he stumbled along. His hand was a hot ball of agony. _What's wrong with it? Oh, yeah, cat bite…_He looked at his hand, it was red and swollen, dark streaks running up his arm. _Where's my ring? _

Something warm flowed over his feet, he looked down, blood was seeping out of the ground and running through the field. _It's a dream. _The grass was reaching for him, the flowers hidden in the field covered with bright black eyes. _It's a dream. Sammy? Wake me up. I don't like this dream. Sam, please. _Someone was screaming, a shrill voice, full of terror. He recognized the screams, he'd heard them before. The fever pulsed hot through his body. _It's a dream, it's the fever, it's just a dream. _The river of blood twisted around him, the grass grabbing at him. The screams went on.

The scent of his prey floated on the air. He turned, clutching the knife in his hand and ran towards it. _It's the fever. This isn't real. I like the pixies better. _He broke through the grass and out onto a gravel road. Bright lights, blood red, dancing in front of him.

"There he is!" a voice shouted.

_It's just a dream._

"Got him!" another voice called.

_It's the fever._

"Wait, please." The voice sounded familiar.

_It's just a dream._

"Out of the way."

_It's the fever._

"Now!"

Something drove into his back, biting pain flared briefly. _It's just a dream. _He reached around, pulled the dart out of his back and threw it on the ground before turning back to the fields and running into the grass.

"Let the drug work," he heard someone say.

He ran, the scent was rich in the air and he ran towards it, towards the screams. Drowsiness finally overcame him, he fell to his knees, trying to focus, trying to keep his head above the river of blood. "Dean! Dean wait!" A desperate shout reached him. _Sammy? It's just a dream._

"New prey waits for you," the voice whispered. An image swan into his brain, a tall man, dark haired…he seemed familiar. "Prey. He's first. He's come to hurt you, to stop this, to never let us finish our task."

With a growl he forced himself up. _It's just a dream, it's the fever. _He could see a house in the distance, he ran towards it. _It's just a dream. _The house loomed in front of him. He opened the door and walked inside, all senses alert, tracking his prey. He could hear movement from the front of the house. He slid along the wall, stilling his breath so he could listen.

"Go, get out," a desperate, yet familiar voice said.

"But…" A woman's voice answered the other.

"Go. No, Jeff, please, let me."

"The tranquilizers didn't work," a male voice said.

"Just be ready to take him back to the hospital," the desperate voice said. _Back? Sammy? Wake me up, I don't like this dream. _"Please, let me."

"I'll alert the medics. I doubt he is here yet. The family's out. Be careful."

Heavy footsteps moved away from him. He could hear someone moving in the room to his left. He peeked around the door. The tall man was there, his back to him. The man was going through the book case, one finger dragging along the spines of the books. Blood was running down the walls, the man was standing in a sea of bloody bodies, their hands tied, their necks slashed, all oozing hot blood onto the floor. Someone was screaming, begging the tall man to stop, to spare the others.

"Yes, yes, kill him," the voice whispered.

He raised the knife, the tall man turned to face him. "Dean?" He launched himself at the tall man, his knife tearing into him.

_It's just a dream, it's the fever, it's just a dream._

**XXX**

Sam pulled onto Woods Road, the gravel crunching under the Impala's tires. Two cars, a red four door and a patrol car blocked the road, the flashing lights sparkling in the rain. Sam slowed as he approached. The cop gestured for him to stop.

"The road's closed," the cop said, walking towards the car.

"He's okay, Hank." Sam looked out the window. Jeff Moats was standing by the red car.

Sam got out of the car and walked towards Moats. "What going on?"

"We're hoping to stop him before he gets to the house," Jeff said.

"Stop him?" Sam asked calmly. _What the hell do you mean stop him? Kill him? It that what you mean? WELL IS IT?_

"Yeah," Jeff smiled and pulled a rifle from the car. "Tranquilizers. I checked the dose, it should put him down and out for a couple of hours."

Sam let out the breath he'd been holding. "Good idea."

"Hey," the uniformed cop called out. "There he is."

Sam looked in the direction the cop was pointing. Dean was running up the road. The hospital gown was torn and muddy, blood covered his brother's left arm and legs. _Oh, god, Dean, you're a mess. _Dean stopped, looking at the cars. He had a curved knife in his hand.

"Got him," Jeff said, bringing the gun to bear.

"Wait, please," Sam said, stepping towards his brother. _Please…Give me a chance…_

"Get out of the way," Jeff snapped. Dean turned and ran into the field of grass beside the road. "Now!" He fired the gun, the soft _phft _of the dart seeming loud to Sam. Dean paused, his hand digging at his back, before he disappeared into the grass. Sam took a step to follow. Jeff stopped him. "Wait for the drug to work."

Sam pulled away and followed his brother into the grass. _Dean, damn it, wait. _He could just make out Dean moving quickly through the field. Dean slowed for a minute, dropping to his knees. "Dean! Dean wait!" Sam sped up, running to catch Dean before he fell. Dean pushed himself up and sprinted away. Sam tried to keep up. _I can usually catch him, but…_Sam finally gave up when he lost Dean in a thicket by the irrigation ditch. He turned and walked quickly back towards the road.

"I lost him," Sam said as he stepped onto the gravel.

"You lost him?" Jeff shook his head. "I shot him with enough to take a moose down."

Sam shrugged. "It didn't work. We'll need something stronger if we're going to keep him down."

"The medics can take care of it, if we catch him."

"Let's get to the house," Sam said anxiously. "He's gone there."

"How can you be sure?"

"It's tied to this family, all the victims, they are all members of the same family. All the way back to nineteenth century Europe," Sam said, walking to the Impala. "These are the last in the area right?"

"The only ones still alive," Jeff said. He met Sam's eyes. "You're sure? Yeah. We better hurry."

Sam followed Jeff's car as it sped up the road, gravel showering the Impala as he drove. _Dean will kill me for this. _He tried to focus on the road. Panic blossoming in his chest. The need to get to Dean, to save Dean was forcing everything else away. He pulled up in front of a bright yellow farmhouse. Jeff was pounding on the door as Sam got out of the car.

"Sorry, Nancy," he said to the woman who answered the door. "You need to leave."

"What's going on, Jeff?"

"No time now, I just need you and the kids out, I'll answer your questions later."

"The boys are upstairs. What's going on?" she said.

"I'll get them," Jeff slid past her. Sam saw a look of surprise cross her face, she followed the cop into the house. Sam got out of the car and walked onto the porch.

"What's going on, Uncle Jeff?" a confused voice asked.

"We're going for a ride, how's that? Does that sound like fun?" Jeff said, he came down the stairs, two young boys in tow.

"In your car? Can we have the sirens?"

"Sure."

Sam followed the woman into the front room, as he passed the hallway he saw a shadow press itself against a wall. _Dean, no. _"Go, get out," he said to the woman.

"But…" She looked at him, her eyes wide. "What's going on?"

"Go." Sam said, looking up as Jeff came back into the house, his handgun out. "No, Jeff, please, let me."

"The tranquilizers didn't work.".

_I know, I chased him remember? _"Just be ready to take him back to the hospital." He met Jeff's eyes. "Please, let me."

The cop nodded. "I'll alert the medics. I doubt he is here yet. The family's out. Be careful."

Jeff turned and walked out. Sam walked to the huge bookcase that stood against the far wall of the room. He ran his fingers along the books. _Interesting collection. I wouldn't have expected…Is that a copy of the works of…? _A noise distracted him. _No, let him come. _He turned back to the books. _I never thought I'd see a copy of that just sitting on a book shelf. _Sam reached up to pull the old book off the shelf. The noise was right behind him this time. He turned, Dean stood in front of him, knife raised. "Dean?" he pleaded.

Dean spat and launched himself at Sam, the knife tearing into Sam's arm before he could push his brother away. "Dean, no, please. It's me, Sam." Dean dove at him again. Sam hit him, trying to knock him down, while doing as little damage as possible. Dean muttered something, then raised the knife again. "No, Dean!" Sam grabbed his brother's arm before Dean could bring the knife down.

"I forgot Mr. Bear," a child's voice said from the doorway.

Dean stopped and looked towards the boy. "Dean no," Sam said desperately. "No." Dean bucked under him, kicking with such force the blow threw Sam off his brother. He slammed into the floor. "Dean, no!" Sam made a grab at Dean's leg as his brother turned towards the child. Sam was aware Jeff had come to the door, the cop had his gun out. Dean pushed himself up, the knife in his hand. "Dean, please," Sam begged as he stood, pulling his gun out of the holster. "Dean…"

Dean looked back at him. Glassy, fevered eyes met Sam's for a moment. He thought he saw recognition before Dean blinked, putting a hand to his head as if he were in pain, as if he could hear something Sam couldn't.

Jeff had his gun up as Dean turned back towards the little boy. "No, let me. Dean, please." Sam said desperately. Dean lunged so fast Sam barely registered the movement. He grabbed the little boy and held him to his chest, the curved knife resting against the child's throat. "Dean, let him go."

"We have to stop him. We have no choice, Sam," Jeff said, his gun pointing at Dean's head. _No, please, no. _

"Let him go," Sam said gently. "Let him go." He took a step towards his brother. Dean pressed the knife against the boy's neck. Sam stopped. "Dean, please." Sam kept his hand with the gun down beside leg. "Please."

"No." Dean raised the knife as Sam brought his gun up.

"Dean, no." _Please, please, please, please. _The knife was speeding towards the child as Sam took a steadying breath and squeezed the trigger. Dean jerked as the bullet hit him. The knife stopped, then started moving again. "No, please, Dean, no." Sam fired again.

The knife clattered to the ground as Dean fell. Blood splattered over his body, gushing out onto the floor.

The gun dropped from Sam's hand.

_No, no, no. Oh god, no. _

_**To Be Continued.**_


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing. I wanted to make sure I got a chapter up before we all needed summer-long therapy. Thank you to Birdie for very detailed information about anesthetics, leg wounds and other yumminess. _

**Feral**

**Chapter Seven**

_It's the fever, it's just a dream. _

A child was there, he recognized the boy's scent. The blood covering the child was familiar. The bodies around him screamed, demanding, the wordless screams carried a depth of meaning. His attention wavered from the tall man, he looked at the child.

"_Yes, our prey, take that one first," the voice whispered. _

"Dean…" The tall man said quietly, the voice familiar. He looked back at the man, meeting his eyes. _Sam? Sammy? I don't like this dream anymore, please wake me up. Sam? It that really you? _Pain shot through Dean's head, like a knife driven into his mind, shattering everything.

"_No, no," the voice screamed. "Sam is waiting. This man and the child must die. Now."_

There was movement out of the corner of his eye, another man, a pistol in his hand. _"The boy, the man and this one, they all, all must die," the voice urged. _Blood was streaming down the walls, flowing hot over his feet. The screams mingled with the voice, coercing him into action. He turned back towards the child. _It's the fever, it's just a dream. It's the fever. I don't like this dream. Pixies were better. _

"No, let me. Dean, please," the tall man said desperately.

"_No, no, he's a traitor, finish," the voice hissed. _He saw a cat flit across the hall, and jump onto a book case, it hissed at him, dark eyes glittering like black glass. _"Finish it," the cat said. _Dean grabbed the child and pulled him against his chest, placing the knife against its throat. _No, Sammy, I don't like this dream. Please wake me. I know it's the fever, but wake me, please wake me. _

"Dean, let him go," the tall man said. _"No, kill them, kill them all and it is finished," the voice hissed. _Blood flowed over him, drowning him, the hot liquid burning his skin, shooting agony through his hand.

"We have to stop him. We have no choice, Sam," the man with the gun said. _Sammy? Are you here? Wake me up, please. _

"Let him go," the tall man said gently. "Let him go." The tall man took a step towards him, but stopped as he pressed the knife against the child's neck. "Dean, please. Please." He noticed the tall man had a gun in his hand. _"Yes, he wants to kill you, to stop you so we can't end this. He knows. He wants to kill you like he killed the others," the cat hissed. _The bodies around him writhed in pain, shrieking in agony as blood poured out of them, covering him

"No." He raised the knife, the screams increased, shrieking a mixture of pain and joy. _It's the fever, it's just a dream_.

"Dean, no," the tall man said desperately, bringing his gun up.

"_NO, DON'T LISTEN, KILL THEM NOW!" the voice screamed. _The shriek was underscored with a stabbing pain in his head, the feeling of his throat being slowly cut. He raised the knife to silence the voice, to stop the pain. There was an explosion of noise and something thumped into his body. A bright flash of light silenced the voices for a moment, pushed the blood away. _"NO! NOW!" _Pain filled him. _"The only way to stop the pain is to kill them. I can make it worse…" _Agony blossomed, he let the knife move again.

"No, please, Dean, no." The tall man fired again, something thumped into his leg, white light exploding out from the point of entry. _Sammy? What's happening? Oh god. _He dropped the knife. _Please don't let me have hurt anyone. _His leg folded under him, warm liquid flowing down the limb. He heard something hit the floor. _I don't like this dream. _

Gentle, trembling hands turned him over, straightening his leg. "Oh god, Dean, I'm so sorry," Sam whispered.

Dean whimpered as something was pressed against his leg. "I don't like this dream, Sammy," he said.

"Dean? Dean, can you hear me?" His brother's voice was frantic, panicked. "Get the medics in here fast. I think I hit an artery," Sam said. "Jeff! Please, he's okay right now."

"Sam?" Dean opened his eyes. Sam was bent over his leg, bloody hands holding something against him. "Where's your shirt?"

"I needed it," Sam said, smiling reassurances. _I must be bad for that look. _

Dean looked around, he was lying in a hallway. "Not in the hospital?"

"Nope, you decided to take a walk," Sam said, pressing down harder against his leg.

"Shit, Sam, that hurts."

"Sorry, Dean." Sam looked out the door. "Hurry, damn it!" he yelled. Dean could hear sirens in the distance. "I thought you had them on stand-by!"

"Less than a minute, Sam," a male voice answered.

_Was I in that field then? _"Sam?"

"What is it?"

"When I was in the field, I sat in cold water. It made the dream stop. Why has it stopped now? Is my fever gone?" _It was just a dream. Maybe this is a dream too?_

"No. Salt and Chrism. I think it stopped it long enough…" Sam trailed off.

"What happened? How?" _I remember…oh god, Sammy did I hurt you?_ There was blood on Sam's arm. A memory swam into focus. _It was a dream…_

"Dean,I'm so sorry," Sam said, tears running down his face. "God, I'm sorry." The siren was suddenly silent, running footsteps approached and two men in uniforms ran through the door. One dropped down beside Sam, moving Sam's hands away, the medic pressed down on Dean's leg as Sam put his hand over Dean's. "It's going to be okay, Dean."

"Sammy?" Someone was screaming, a woman's voice, blood dripped from a slash in Sam's neck. "It's starting again. Stop them, please."

"It's okay, Dean," Sam repeated.

"We need to start an IV," the medic said. Sam dropped Dean's hand.

"Don't leave, Sammy." The IV bit into his elbow.

"I'm here," Sam put his hand on Dean's forehead. Blood poured out of Sam's mouth, rushing over Dean like a burning wave. "Do you understand…?" Sam asked the medic.

"Dr. Olejniczak talked to us about what we need to do and he gave us what we need. He understands what's going on."

"Stop it, please, Sam…I can't hold on much…" _"Kill him, kill him now…" the voice whispered. _Dean fought against the hands holding him down. "Sammy," he pleaded.

"They're going to put you out, Dean. Far enough for no dreams until I can figure this out."

_What's that mean? Sammy? _The screams were getting louder. "Hurry," he whispered. Sam took Dean's hand in his, nodded to the medic and the world faded away.

**XXX**

Sam watched as Dean relaxed, the desperate look of agony fading as the drug started working. He walked beside the stretcher and waited as the medics loaded it into the back of the ambulance. Sam heard one of the medics calling the hospital, reporting Dean's condition, he heard the word "artery" before the doors slammed closed. The ambulance pulled away, sirens blaring.

"That was a good shot," Jeff said. "Missed Jeffie completely, but you took him down clean. Impressive. Especially considering the circumstances. I wasn't expecting him to go down that easy."

"I loaded the hollow points with salt and Chrism," Sam said, still walking towards the Impala. _Oh god, Dean, I'm so sorry. I…please tell me I didn't kill you. I'm so sorry. _

"Chrism?"

"Holy oil." Sam turned to Jeff as something occurred to him. "The boy's name is Jeffie?"

"Yeah."

"He called you Uncle Jeff. Are you related?"

"Not really."

"Not really?" Sam frowned. "What do you mean not really?"

"Nancy's husband was a frat brother. So we aren't technically related," he chuckled. "But we're like brothers."

"Where is he?" Sam asked.

"Iraq." Jeff smiled. "He should be home in a couple of months."

"I need to get to the hospital," Sam said, opening the Impala's door and dropping into the driver's seat.

"Anyway you can keep researching?"

_Hmm, let's see. I just shot my brother, he's bleeding out because of me, will need surgery to get the bullets I put in him out. Yeah, plenty of time for research. I'll be able to concentrate just fine. WHAT THE HELL? _"Yeah, after I talk to the doctor, I'll get back to work. Dean will need surgery." _If he's even still alive._ "I'll keep you updated."

"Thanks." Jeff thumped the top of the car and walked away.

Sam pulled out, driving too fast down the gravel road, he nearly lost control as he reached the highway. _Calm down, killing yourself won't help Dean. _He turned onto the highway and sped towards the hospital.

Once he'd parked in the nearly empty lot, he sprinted towards the hospital. The woman sitting at the reception desk in the ER looked up as he ran in, she smiled at him. "Mr. Strummer, right? The doctor will be right out to speak with you."

"My brother?" _Is he…?_

"On his way to the OR," she said, smiling at him with the compassionate medical smile.

"Thank you, where is…?" Sam stopped as a tall man approached him.

"Mr. Strummer?" the man asked, he had a slight accent to his voice.

"It's Sam," he said..

"I'm Dr. Olejniczak."

_That's a mouthful. _"My brother?"

"He needs surgery. One bullet passed through the body, the other, the shot to his leg, nicked an artery. We need to remove the bullet and repair the damage. He'll be in surgery for several hours."

"Doctor…"

The man smiled at him, a genuine smile of reassurance. "I understand the situation. The anesthesia should keep an incident from occurring during surgery."

"And after?"

"I need to speak with you about that."

"Can we keep him…" Sam paused. "No, it didn't work before, but you said anesthesia…" _Am I making any sense at all? _ "Can you…?" _What am I asking?_

"Yes, we can keep him deeply sedated, there are serious risks," the doctor said. "We need permission."

"Will it work?"

"I think so. I'm not sure, we've never had the opportunity to treat someone after an incident."

"Have you dealt with this before?" Sam frowned at him.

"Yes, I've dealt with several victims of this illness. I tried to intervene with Chris Sill, but I realized to late…"

"About Dr. Knight?"

"Yes. How did you managed to stop your brother?" the doctor asked. "Two shots from a .22 hardly seem like enough."

"I loaded the points with Chrism and rock salt."

"Good thinking," the doctor steered Sam down the hall. "Once your brother is out of surgery…"

"I need to protect him, I need to keep the woman away."

"Woman?" the doctor frowned.

"There's a spirit here," Sam said, sensing the doctor would believe him. "She looks like Dr, Knight. I think she's the one who helped Dean escape from the hospital."

"Ah, I did wonder, but Dr. Knight was in the cafeteria when he disappeared." The man smiled at Sam. "I was following her."

"I need to make sure Dean's protected from…"

"From what?"

"I'm not sure. I know Fluffers is involved. I know it has something to do with the family of Pam Sill."

"You've found out more than I have," the doctor stopped in front of a door marked Dr. Stanislaw Olejniczak. He ushered Sam into the book filled office. "I've been researching Fluffers victims, as well. I knew there had to be a connection."

A stray thought worked itself up into Sam's awareness. _What did Dean say? _"Doc? Dean said he sat in cold water and the dreams stopped."

"Cold water?" the doctor frowned in concentration. "I've wondered if the fever was the catalyst."

"What does it mean?"

"It might give us another tool to fight this," he smiled at Sam.

Sam smiled back and glanced at the books on the shelf. "Is this a copy of…" He pulled the book off the shelf, flipping through the heavy pages. "I've only seen pages on the web. He slid it back into place and pulled another down. "This is the second copy of this I've seen. There was one in the house where I…" _Where I shot my brother. Oh god, Dean, I'm so sorry. _

"So they knew," Dr. Olejniczak said with a frown. "Dabbling in that kind of magic isn't wise."

"Unless you're being hunted by an ancient cat," Sam said, sitting down with the book. "Can we move Dean to a different room after surgery." _Unless he dies. Dean? Don't die. _

"Yes, we'll move him to room eighteen. I'll have the patient from that room shifted to thirteen."

"Eighteen? Good, it's a mystical number." _Dean would appreciate that… "Always hedge your bets, Sammy."_

"The number of life, I know," the doctor smiled.

"Dr. Oli..Oleg…Oln…" Sam stopped with an embarrassed smile.

"Call me Stan."

"Stan. I need to make sure Dean's protected once he's out of surgery."

"I understand," Stan pointed over the door. Sam looked up and noticed a bundle of herbs tied with a silver chain. "All four corners of this room, too. There's a mirror in the window."

"A ritual mirror to deflect black magic?" _Who are you, Stan?_

"It's not Feng Shui," Stan said with a knowing smile. Sam looked around the room a carefully than he had before. He realized his chair was sitting at the point of a pentacle that had been drawn on the floor in red paint. A small space on one bookshelf had been cleared to make room for a tiny altar. "Your brother will be in surgery for several hours. If you would like to use my office to research, I will make it available to you. As you can see, there are advantages to working here rather than in the cafeteria."

"Thank you. I need to get my computer and couple of other things from the car."

"We'll have Dean's room ready by the time you get back. Stop by there first. I'll let the nurses know, and tell them they are not to disturb anything. I'll meet you at room eighteen."

Sam stood. "Thank you, I'll be back." He turned to leave.

"Sam? You're safe in here, but I think you should have this."

Sam looked at the item the doctor was holding. A small bag incised with a protective charm. He slipped the necklace over Sam's head. "Thanks." Sam walked out of the office and stopped at the espresso stand. As he waited for his latte, peeked into the bag. He recognized the scent of yarrow and elderflower. Shifting the herbs around, he found a small silver charm at the bottom of the bag. _I should have thought of something like this as soon as I noticed my hair was missing. I repeat. Who are you, Stan?_

After grabbing his computer, the bible and a few things from the trunk, Sam headed towards Dean's room. The doctor was standing at the nurses station talking to a dark haired woman Sam hadn't seen before. Stan gestured to Sam.

"This is Elona, she understands what you will be doing. Once your brother is back in the room only myself or Elona will go in to check on him."

"Thank you," Sam smiled at the woman and turned to room eighteen. Sam stopped just inside the door and placed a small bundle of herbs over the door. After checking to make sure it was secure, he put similar bundles in each corner. Finally he stopped by the bed. _Dean? Make it back here, okay? _He tucked a bundle of herbs and rock salt under the mattress.

"Let me help you move the bed," Stan said from the door. He walked in and released the brakes on the bed and shoved it aside. Sam pulled out a candle and carefully dressing it with Chrism. "Good idea, using a candle," Stan said. "The wax is invisible, but works as well as paint—with fewer awkward questions." He chuckled.

Sam glanced up at Stan. "Do you think a pentacle is enough? Or do we need something more elaborate?"

"Let me." The doctor took the candle, muttering softly under his breath. He knelt and Sam watched as he drew a complex design on the floor. When he was finished he stood, smiled at Sam and spoke a few Slavic sounding words over the design. A flash of white light shot through the design, lighting the room for a moment and then disappeared. _Who the hell are you, Stan?_

"I've never seen that one before. You'll have to teach me," Sam said, grinning at the doctor. "When Dean's back, I'll put a ring of salt around the bed." _Dean, please come back, please. _

"Good plan, you hardly need my help at all." Stan smiled. "Would you like me to take you back to my office?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "Can I ask why you are doing this?" Sam asked as they walked down the hallway.

"I've followed these murders for years. I wasn't able to stop it last time. This time I hope I can prevent further tragedy." Stan sighed. "I know there is a connection of some kind. I just can't seem to find it."

"All the victims have been related to Pam Sill."

"What?" The doctor stopped and looked at Sam.

"I have the family bible. They were all members of the same family."

"All of them?"

"All the way back to nineteenth century Europe," Sam said, waiting as the doctor unlocked his door. "I want to look into that a little further. I think the answer is there. How long till Dean is out of surgery?" _Dean, you're coming out of this fine. Don't let Fluffers take you down. _

Stan glanced at his watch. "That kind of repair takes awhile. A couple more hours at least."

"Okay." Sam opened his laptop and put the bible on the doctor's desk. _Dean? I think I'm getting close. Don't let this win. Let me figure it out. Please, Dean. I need you here. _

**XXX**

Darkness surrounded him, living breathing darkness, silent except for throbbing screams. They filled the darkness with sound, hot blood washing over him as he was held unmoving in the dark.

"_Wake, wake, you have failed. You must finish. Wake. Now!" the voice whispered. _Pain shot through the darkness, filling him with agony. _"You must finish!" the voice shrieked in a cat's angry scream. _

Sound began filtering through the screams, and light, blood-red, through the darkness.

"_You must finish, up, up, they still live."_

Something was hissing, something that wasn't the voice. A beep that sounded like the call of a forest bird filled his mind. Pain, agony was growing, pushing out from his hand, from his leg. It felt like someone was digging at his leg with a shovel.

"_Wake, wake, time to wake," the voice hissed. "You must finish. They are the last."_

The dark receded further, the chirping of the bird grew frantic.

"Oh my god!" a voice drifted through the screams.

The pain flowed through him, the shovel stopped ripping at his leg, he heard frantic activity around him, panicked voices, all flowing together, just words, meaningless words. _Sam? Sammy? I don't like this dream. _A sharp voice was barking orders.

"Do something!"

"_No, no, don't let them stop you. The only way to end the pain is to wake, to finish." _

The blood red light was growing brighter, pain throbbing wildly through his body. The voices were frantic, urgent tones that indicated imminent disaster.

"Do it!" a voice said.

The light began to fade, the voice hissing, shrieking in his head, sending shaft after stabbing shaft of pain through his body. _"No, you must finish! You must or you will pay." _Agony filled his chest, flowing outwards.

The chirping of the birds grew more frantic, their beeping sounding like a flock set in motion by the appearance of a predator. _Sam? Sam are you here?_ Angry peeps beeping wildly, faster and faster as the pain exploded through him. _SAM! Please help! Sammy, please._

"No!" a voice called.

"We're going to lose him," another said.

The darkness rose up and washed over him in a huge burning wave. _Sam, I'm sorry. _The beeping of the birds stopped and the screams were suddenly silenced.

**XXX**

The room was quiet as Sam researched. The doctor sat across from him, answering Sam's questions, pulling books off the shelf, following leads that Sam found. They had been working quietly for almost an hour when Sam found something. He looked up at the doctor. "How much do you know about middle and eastern European history?"

"A little, why?"

"In 1848, there was a massacre in a small village…"

"There were lots of them."

"Yes, but this village was massacred by an ancestor of Pam Sill. According to this report, everyone in the village, men, women, children and their animals were killed and the village was burned." Sam paged through the document he'd found online. "Most of the villagers were related."

"Sounds like the recipe for revenge."

"Revenge by a cat?" Sam asked skeptically.

"I have an idea. Have you ever heard of…" He stopped when the phone started ringing. "Olejniczak." He listened for a moment. "What?" Stan glanced up at Sam, concern and compassion on his face. "Hold on."

"Stan?" Sam asked, panic exploding in his chest.

"I'm so sorry, Sam, I should have done something about the OR. There wasn't time."

"What?" _Dean, please. _

"I need you to make a decision."

"What?" Sam whispered. The doctor started speaking the words not making sense. He nodded at Stan.

"Do it," the doctor said, he placed the phone in its cradle with a controlled movement.

Sam sat staring at the computer screen, tears running down his face.

_Oh god, Dean, I'm so sorry._

_**To Be Continued.**_


	8. Chapter 8

**Feral**

**Chapter Eight**

The room was quiet except for the soft hum from the fan in Sam's laptop. The computer was open in front of him, but the screen was just a blur. He closed his eyes and put his head in his hands. "Will they call?" he asked from behind his hands. _Will they let me know if Dean is dead? _He took a breath, trying to stop the tears that were running down his cheeks.

"Sam, I'm sorry. I put you in a bad position, but I think this is the way to get him through the surgery," Stan said gently from the other side of the desk. "We need to break Fluffers' spell long enough to repair the physical damage."

"I know," Sam whispered. "Are you sure it will work?"

"No, not completely, but there was an incident a long time ago…She didn't make it, but for a moment the spell was broken," Stan said sadly.

Sam drew a ragged breath and looked at the doctor. "Her heart stopped?"

"Yes."

"And letting Dean's…"

"It should break the hold the spell has on him long enough to get him through the surgery. The anesthesia isn't working, we have to do something."

"I know, and if we do nothing he dies. I know. How long will he be…His heart…"

"Only seconds."

"It's been longer than that." _I killed him, oh god, Dean, I'm so sorry. _

"Sam…" The doctor broke off as his phone rang. He listened, nodding, then smiled at Sam. _Dean? Dean be okay, you hear me? _"Thank you. Yes. Once he's back in his room, we'll need to keep him sedated. Don't worry, he won't wake up while he's there. Yes." He put the receiver back in its cradle. "It's okay, Sam."

Sam closed his eyes for a moment. "Thanks." Sam wiped the tears off his face. "We need to stop Fluffers."

"Yes." The doctor looked at him. "What do you think?"

"I need to do a little more research." Sam looked back at the computer screen. It seemed like hours since he'd open the page. _Hours, a lifetime. Dean's life, lost, if only for a moment. Oh god, Dean. Hang on._

"I'll get us coffee," Stan said, rising.

Sam smiled. As soon as Stan had left the room, he dragged out his phone and dialed their father for the hundredth time. "Dad," he said after the voicemail picked up. "Dean's dying. I'm not sure I can solve this in time. I…I need some help." Sam flipped the phone closed and stretched.

Stan came back and handed Sam a coffee, he took it with a smile and opened another page, following a lead. _Wait, what's that? _He read it again. "Stan? Do you know how to track genealogy?"

"Yeah, I do, what are we doing?"

"We need to find out about Dr. Knight's family history."

Stan nodded. "Yeah, okay, I'll get on it right away, but I don't know how long it will take."

"That's okay." Sam turned back to his research. _If I'm right…We'll need something big to break this one. _He sipped his coffee and flipped between the laptop and books.

"Sam?" Stan said quietly twenty minutes later.

"Yeah?"

"Jessica Knight—she is the only surviving member of her family. Interestingly enough, her great-great grandmother was the only survivor of the massacre of her village in 1848."

"The village massacred by the ancestor of Pam Sill?" Sam nodded. "That explains the crying woman."

"Crying woman?"

"The spirit. Every time I've seen her she was crying. I wonder—is she one of the victims of the first massacre? But then how is she here? Why is she here?"

"Fluffers," Stan said firmly.

"The cat?" _Oh, Dean will love this. Fluffers as architect of all of this…Dean? You have to make it and hear all this, okay?_

"The cat." Stan nodded looking back at the screen. "So who, or what, is Fluffers?" Sam shook his head and turned back to his research.

"The locket!" Sam shouted almost an hour later. They'd been researching quietly, passing leads on to each other, but they hadn't made any significant breakthroughs until Sam found a page on "known witches of middle Europe."

"The locket?"

"I saw it in the pictures. There were three lockets. They belonged to the village elders, supposedly workers in black magic. A man, a woman and their daughter each had one. They'd been passed down for generations, containing magic to protect them and give them power. Two of the lockets were taken by Sill's ancestor."

"And the third?"

"It belonged to the only survivor of the massacre."

"Knight's grandmother." Stan sighed. "I remember, there was a piece of jewelry that came in on one of Chris Sill's victims. It disappeared from the morgue."

"She stole it," Sam said with certainty. "They want them back. They need all three for the magic to be accessible."

"Yes. It's not just about revenge. They need the lockets back."

"If we had the third one, do you think they would be willing to bargain?" _At least for Dean's life? _

"Bargain? With those animals? Are you crazy?"

"I said do you think they'd be willing to bargain. Not that we would. But we can use the locket to draw them out." _No, they die for this. For what they've done to Dean._

"Yes." Stan smiled, it was a cruel smile. "We draw them to us, and break the curse once and for all." _Who are you, Stan?_

"We need to get that locket."

"We do." The phone rang. "What? NO! On my way." Stan stood before he hung the phone up. "They took your brother to recovery," he said, running out the door. Sam right behind him. "I told them…Straight to his room! Damn. She must have someone still here." Sam ran behind the doctor, they ran through doors marked "authorized personnel only." Stan pushed through another set of doors and stopped so abruptly, Sam ran into him.

"This is impossible!" someone shouted.

Sam pushed past the doctor. _Oh my god, no. _"Dean? Dean, put the scalpel down."

**XXX**

The silence was growing louder, the darkness brighter. Blood-red light against his eyelids, screams ringing in his ears. Pain soaked through him, like the cold wet of a winter's day. He moaned, he heard his voice rough against his ears.

"_Wake, wake you have failed me. You have failed. You will pay," a voice hissed at him. _Something hard was pressed into his hand. He felt the cool metal against his skin. _"Wake and finish this." _The light got brighter as the screams reverberated around him. He opened his eyes a slit, agony washed over him as a wave of blood poured down the walls. _Sam? I don't like this dream. It's getting worse. _

He looked around, he was in a room with blue walls and cascading torrents of blood. He pulled against the sheets holding him down, trying to work his hand free. A woman looked at him, horror on her face. "Oh my god!" she ran from the room. Activity exploded around him. Someone approached the bed as he got his hand free and held up the glittering knife. _"Yes, yes, end it. Finish this." _Pain exploded through his body, white-hot agony, he could feel tears running down his face. _Sammy? Please, please make it end. _

"_End it yourself," the voice screamed at him. "End it and the pain will go away. NOW! Don't let them stop you!"_ Dean put the knife against his neck as two more people ran in the room. Someone he didn't know and the tall man from before, the one who shot him.

"Dean? Dean, put the scalpel down," the tall man said, walking slowly towards the bed, his hands held up.

"_No! No! Do it, you've failed," the voice hissed. _Black cats' eyes glittered around him. He pressed the knife tighter against his throat, feeling the first taste of the blade. _Sam? Please, I don't like this dream, wake me up, please. _

"Dean, no!" the tall man shouted. He slipped something from around his neck.

"Sam, what are you doing?" the man who had come in with him asked.

"I have an idea." The tall man held up the small bag he'd pulled from his neck.

"_NO! NO! DON'T LET THEM STOP YOU!!" the voice screamed. _Something was driving pain like a spike through his head, through his throbbing hand and down into his leg.

"Dean?" the tall man said quietly. He tossed the small bag.

It hit Dean on his chest, the impact exploded through him like an electrical shock, he closed his eyes as it vibrated through his body. "Sam?" he asked. "Sammy?" Someone took something out of his left hand, he heard a metallic clatter beside him, then a cool hand wrapped around his. "Sam?" He opened his eyes, his brother was standing beside the bed.

"Dean? Can you hear me?"

"Yeah." Dizziness washed over him. "Sam? Wha's go on…?"

"It's the anesthetic. The charm blocked Fluffers so the drugs are working again." Dean turned blurry eyes towards the man who spoke. "You need to get that charm back on, Sam. You're in danger."

"Let's get Dean to his room, Stan," Sam said. The other man did something to the bed and Dean was moving, the bed rolling down the hall. "Dean?"

"It's still there, Sam, the dream," Dean managed to force out, Sam frowned. "Quieter, but there."

"I'll fix it, Dean, promise." Sam squeezed his hand.

Dean was rolled into a room, the screaming voice nearly silent. He could still hear it hissing, but it sounded like it was coming through a closed door. Blood was pouring down Sam's face, but even that had faded. "Sam?" _Did I hurt you? Have I hurt anyone? Please, Sam, I don't like this dream._

"You're safe in here, Dean. Sleep. The dream can't reach you there." Sam put a gentle hand on Dean's forehead. "Let the drugs work, Dean. Trust me."

"Trying." But as hard as he tried, the voice wouldn't let him go, the screams still held him pinned in the bed. He closed his eyes, Sam's hand was cool against his pounding headache. "Trying, won't let me."

"What can you do?" Sam asked.

"Sam, we talked about the risks…"

"Do we have a choice?" Sam's voice was angry, desperate. Dean could hear the emotion simmering under his brother's words.

"Sam?" Dean struggled away from the dark. _Sam? What's going on?_ "What?" He opened his eyes, Sam's face was streaked with tears. "Sammy?" The voice was screaming, the volume slowly increasing.

"How are they getting through the protection we put in here?" Sam demanded.

"Sam? What?" Dean repeated.

"The drugs aren't working right," Sam said, looking down at him.

"Give more."

"Dean." Sam swallowed. "I know, but it could…"

"Don't want to hurt anyone. I will. Do it, Sam. Trust."

Sam tightened his grip on Dean's hand and nodded. "Okay. Dean, oh god…"

A soft coolness spread through his body. Dean let his eyes close again. Sam's hand was still on his forehead. He could feel his brother's hand trembling. The voice was still there, screaming, demanding that he finish what he'd started, telling him over and over that he'd failed. Pain flared in his hand. He moaned, the coolness spread again, the light was fading, the voice, the other screams, filling his head. Dean could hear bits of conversation around him. Sam's voice, panicked, full of tears, another voice, deep, with a slight accent. The owner of that voice was consoling his brother. Pain flared again. Quiet anxious voices, darkness crept a little closer.

"_Finally," this voice hissed. "They'll do what you failed at. They will finish it for me."_

Sam's voice and the other blended together. He could still feel his brother's hand on his, but the words all flowed together—Sam's, the other's, all flowing together. "Dean…hang on…Sam…Fluffers…" Other voices joined the chorus. "Too much…failure…intubate."

"_Yes, they finished for me. Finished you," the voiced hissed._

Dean felt hands pull his head back as the dark found him and the voice was finally silent.

**XXX**

"We need to make sure no one can get to Dean," Sam said, still holding his brother's hand.

"I'll go to my office and get the salt. We'll double ring the bed and do the doors and windows too."

"Stan? How did Fluffers manage to get through everything?"

"I think we are dealing with a very powerful sorcerer, Sam. He's managed to come back to exact revenge, and also managed to break nearly every other rule that usually applies to spirits." Stan sighed. "Fluffers has to be the…"

"The village elder, the crying woman must be his wife. Dean's still in danger."

"I'll get the salt, and a few other items. We'll make doubly sure before we go." The doctor turned to leave the room.

Sam pulled out his phone and dialed Jeff. "It's Sam Winchester," he said when the man answered.

"Have you found anything?" Jeff's voice was tight.

"Yeah, Dr. Knight from the hospital is involved, can you…?"

"What? Oh my god! Nancy called her to come check on the boys. She's with them…" Sam could hear Jeff's footsteps as he ran through the hall. The phone clattered to the ground. "FREEZE!" he shouted. "Stop or I shoot." There was a pause. "Put it down. Jeffie? Jeffie can you hear me?" There was a child's whimper. "I said freeze!" There was another pause and a shot rang out.

"Sam?" Jeff said, picking up the phone. "She's dead. Jeffie's hurt. I need to…"

"Wait, before you go, check her. Is she wearing a locket?"

"Two, actually."

"Can you bring them to Pam Sill's house?"

"I need to be with Jeffie, Sam."

"Then bring them to the hospital, if I have them, I think I can end this," Sam said, suddenly sure of what he needed to do.

"I'll meet you there as soon as I can," Jeff said brusquely.

"Thank you." Sam broke the connection and dialed Gayle's number.

"Clash, found anything?"

"Yeah, I did. Can you come to the hospital and sit with my brother? I want to make sure he's safe. I know I can trust you."

"Be there in ten, hon. I get the exclusive, though, right?" She chuckled. "Sorry old habits die hard."

"Right." Sam looked up as Stan came back in the room. They carefully poured the salt around the bed and in front of all the openings in the room. When they were done Stan walked back to the bed and handed Sam the bag with the charm. "You'll need this, Sam." Stan opened Dean's gown, exposing his chest. He smiled at Sam and then carefully drew a design on Dean's skin. "Now that we know who Fluffers is, this will help."

"I recognize it. Good idea. Jessica Knight is dead, she was with one of the last family members. Someone is bringing the lockets…And I know where the third is."

"Destroy the lockets?" Stan asked, searching his eyes.

"If that's where the power is destroying them should break the spell."

"So, we have a plan." Stan smiled. "We'll need a few things from my office. I'll be right back."

"Dean?" Sam said softly when the doctor was gone. "I'm going to end this, just hold on a little longer okay? I'll be back in an hour or two. Someone will be here with you. She likes your car and music. Don't do something stupid like die before I get back, okay?" _Please, please Dean. Oh god, hang on, please._

"Who are you talking to?" Gayle asked from the door.

"My brother. Step carefully over the salt." As Gayle came in the room, Sam saw the crying lady appear in the corridor. She dove at the door, only to be stopped at the threshold. Sam smiled at her. "Sorry, not getting to Dean." She screamed at him and tried to break through the barrier again. Sam shrugged. "Too bad." He turned back to Gayle. "As soon as Jeff gets here, I can go."

"Jeff?"

"He's bringing the lockets. I think he was waiting for the ambulance."

"Ambulance? Is he okay?" Gayle looked at him, panic in her eyes.

Sam smiled at her. _Sorry, Dean, she likes your music and your car, but I think she's taken. _"Jeffie was hurt."

"Oh," she sighed in relief. "Oh! He'll be heartbroken, he worships those kids."

Stan appeared in the door. "I have the lockets, Sam. Are you ready?"

"Yeah." Sam squeezed Dean's hand. "I'll be back. You hang on." With a small smile at Gayle, he followed the doctor out of the room.

"Sam?" Stan said softly as Sam pulled up in front on the Sill house.

"Yeah?"

"You need to know." He paused and looked out the window, when he looked back his eyes were grief-laden and weary. "I don't plan on leaving here."

"What?"

"I've been waiting for a long time to find Fluffers and finish this." He sighed. "A very long time. My daughter…She was a victim, like Dean."

"Was she the one whose heart stopped?" Sam asked, not needing an answer. _His daughter, oh god. _

"Yes, she died in my arms, but she was free for those last few moments." Tears ran down Stan's face. "I vowed I would find her killer and end him." He smiled at Sam. "Thanks to you, I finally have a change to avenge her death."

"It doesn't mean you have to die, Stan," Sam said desperately. In the short time he'd known the doctor he'd grown fond of the man, and had been looking forward to getting to know him better.

"Sam, you don't understand. I…"

"Are you already dead?"

"A ghost? No." Stan chuckled. "No, but I should be. I used a little magic, probably a spell similar to the one Fluffers used. I've been chasing him for a long, long time, Sam."

"Stan, you aren't…"

"My daughter died in 1918, Sam." Stan smiled. "I've been ready for a long time."

"Stan, I…I wish you'd reconsider."

"I'll think about it." Stan opened the door. "Are you sure the locket is here? You'd think Fluffers would have found it."

"I moved it, when I was here. I put it on a shelf. Maybe he can't reach it?" Sam opened the door and walked into the living room, the locket was still on the shelf where he'd put it. _About fifty years ago, or so it seems. _He sighed and looked a Stan. "Ready?"

"Ready."

Stan put four black and four red candles on the floor then traced out a circle. He lit the candles and muttered softly under his breath. Sam caught snatches of Latin and another language as the man worked. Sam pulled out the notes he'd made and began his part of the spell, carefully tracing the intricate pattern on the floor. He finished and put the lockets in the center of the pattern. Sam looked over at Stan. The man nodded. Sam read the spell in Latin as Stan recited it in the Slavic tongue he'd used before.

Wind began whipping through the room, papers flying up in the air. A vase flew off a table and came shooting towards Sam, he ducked and the glass shattered against the back wall. Dark particles almost like grains of dried blood began swirling around them. To Sam's horror, the walls began dripping with blood. Screams echoed through the house. He clutched the amulet Stan had given him. The front door slammed open. The crying woman and Fluffers stood before them.

"Give us what is ours," the woman said. "Give us the lockets and we leave."

"No." Stan said. "No, too many have died."

"Give us what is ours!" she screamed, her face altering, becoming a death's head.

"No." Stan started reciting again. Fluffers suddenly screamed and where the cat had been a man stood, dressed in black, dried flesh on his face.

"Give us our lockets and we'll go," the man, Fluffers, said, holding his hand out and muttering quietly. Sam felt a stab of pain in his head. "We'll go. You'll live." he hissed, his voice was harsh.

"Let Dean go," Sam said quietly.

"No. He failed me. He dies."

The pain increased. Sam groaned and dropped to his knees. He heard Stan's voice. _I have to finish this, now, no more talking. _Agony shot behind his eyes. Sam crawled towards the lockets. Stan was still talking to them, he could hear Fluffers animal-like voice answering.

"My daughter, his brother, they are innocents," Stan was saying.

"No one is innocent," Fluffers growled. "They slaughtered us like animals. Butchered my people. They deserve to live and die like animals. Slaughtered by a wild man, cruel and unyielding."

"My daughter, she had nothing to do with this, neither did Sam and his brother."

Sam managed to get to the lockets. Stan's distraction wouldn't last much longer. He forced himself forward, pouring salt and Chrism over the lockets. He added the contents of a small vial Stan had given him. The metal started smoking.

"NO!" the crying woman screamed.

"No, you can't stop this. Bring me the lockets."

Sam looked over at him, fighting the pain. "No." He looked down, the lockets were still smoking. "The hell with this." Sam forced himself up and slammed his heel down on the lockets, he felt the metal, already weakened by the spell, shatter beneath his boot. The wind increased, battering him with objects from the house and the sharp grains of blood. He covered his face as the whirlwind spun around him, the sound of the wind full of the cries of injured, dying people.

And it was over.

Sam pushed himself over. _How'd I get on the floor? _He crawled over to Stan. "Stan?" He turned him over, feeling for a pulse. The doctor looked older, his dark hair now shot with white. "Stan?"

"Sam?" Stan opened his eyes. "I guess it isn't the end after all." He sighed. "I'm not sure if I'm happy or sad about that. Help me up." Sam stood and pulled the man to his feet. He leaned on Sam as they walked to the car. Sam eased him gently into the seat. "I'll be fine in a minute."

The drive back to the hospital was quiet, each lost in their own thoughts. Sam glanced over at Stan once or twice, the doctor looked up and smiled, but didn't say anything. _Dean? It's okay now. I've gotten rid of Fluffers. _They walked slowly through the corridor, Sam noticing a few bruises he'd received during the whirlwind in the house. His back ached where a large book had slammed into him. Stan stopped by the nurses' station as Sam walked into the room. He'd been hoping it would all be better when they got back. _I know better, but still, Dean's a fighter. I thought…_Gayle smiled at him.

"You look like hell, Clash," she said softly.

"Yeah, I bet."

"Is it over?"

"Yeah. I'll give you the story later okay?" he said, looking at Dean.

She stood and gave him a quick hug. "Whenever, Sam. I'm going to check on Jeffie and Jeff, but I'll be back."

"Thanks, Gayle."

"Sam?" Stan walked quietly into the room.

"How's Dean? When can we get him off the respirator? How long until he wa…" Sam stopped, the doctor's face was bleak.

"Dean took a turn for the worse while we were gone. It looks like it happened about the time we finished with Fluffers." Stan sighed. "Sam, his fever is still up, the infection from the cat bite…" Sam followed the doctor's eyes to his brother's swollen, purple hand. "It's still not responding, and his body, well the bullet wounds…"

"Was Fluffers the only thing keeping Dean alive?" Sam whispered, feeling tears in his eyes, his heart pounding as fear replaced the brief sense of relief. _No, no. Please. _

Stan shook his head sadly. "I don't know, Sam. We'll have to wait."

"For Dean to die?" Sam asked.

Stan put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "We don't know, Sam. We'll have to wait."

"Oh god." Sam walked over to the bed and sank down in the chair. "You're supposed to be better. I took care of Fluffers. Dean? Please." Sam put his head in his hands, the ache in his chest overwhelming him. "Dean…"

_Please, Dean. Don't die, not now. _

_**To Be Continued**_


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing! I appreciate it so much! For those of you who asked, this is set season one, before Shadow. _

**Feral**

**Chapter Nine**

The clock's ticking was beginning to drive Sam crazy. The second hand had an odd double tick, the hand would move forward then drop back half a step. It seemed like it was slowly increasing in volume, the _tick tick _was drowning out the TV, the conversation in the hall, the nurses' voices as they came to check on Dean. The temptation to tear the clock off the wall and destroy it was edging closer and closer to obsession. Sam sighed and stood, walking to the window and looking out at the parking lot. The Impala was gleaming in the rain. An ambulance pulled up to the ER, sirens blaring, but hardly noticeable because of the _tick tick _behind him.

"I don't know, Dean," he said, turning back to the figure on the bed. "How much do you think they'll charge if I destroy that clock? No one seems to look at it, they all know the time. It's just there—ticking at me."

Sam paced to the door and looked out. The nurses were sitting at their station, one was laughing about something, a cell phone in her hand. He walked back to the bed. "I think I hate the clock, it's ticking away like there's nothing wrong and in case you haven't noticed, everything is wrong." Sam sighed and sank into the chair, putting his hand on Dean's arm. "You can't let a cat named Fluffers take you out. Yeah, okay," Sam answered the unspoken protest. "It was a sorcerer using a cat's body, but the infection is the same as if it were plain old Fluffers." Sam looked up as Stan came in the room, the doctor glanced at the monitors and stopped beside Sam. "How's my brother?"

Stan shook his head and put a gentle hand on Sam's shoulder. "I have a little good news. Since we've been able to back off the sedation, we can pull the vent in a little while."

Sam blinked back the tears that were suddenly in his eyes. "He's getting better?"

"Sam…" Stan sighed. "This has very little to do with the infection and everything to do with the amount of anesthetic we had to give him to keep him down. He's breathing mostly on his own, we just need to make sure…"

"I understand," Sam said quietly. _All too well. I know the drill, how many times have I sat here with him? How many times have I waited for him to live or die?_ _How old was I the first time? How many times since…? _Sam swallowed. "I…I…" He shook his head. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"It's okay, Sam. I understand, you know. I've been around for awhile," Stan said.

"Yeah," Sam smiled.

"One of the nurses noticed my hair." Stan ran his hand over his head, the hair that had been raven black that morning was now more salt than pepper. "I hope no one tries to make me retire."

"Stan…?" Sam stopped himself.

"I was born in 1887," Stan said with a smile. "Does that answer your question? But, please, don't mention it to anyone."

"I won't. Why would I take a chance at losing a doctor with that much experience? It could come in handy…"

"I bet considering what you and your brother do."

"Yeah. Is Dean going to make it?" Sam got the words out in a rush. _Please say yes, Stan. Please. _

"Honestly, I don't know, Sam. If he starts responding to the antibiotics, yes. If the fever goes down, yes. Right now I still don't know."

"Yeah," Sam said quietly. "I know. It's just…"

"What?" Stan asked kindly.

"If only I had realized what was happening sooner, maybe I could have…" Sam shook his head. "He always gets delusional when he has a fever. Always. I should have realized this was something different."

"Always?"

"Yeah, the last really bad one…" Sam laughed. "He ended up punching our father, shooting out a door frame and trying to save me from pixies, apparently he thought I'd been kidnapped. And I thought this time was like that, just Dean's usual delusions."

"Why would you suspect differently?" Stan said, pulling a chair over and settling down beside Sam. "Sam, you shouldn't beat yourself up, how could you have known?"

"Because…" Sam swallowed sudden pain.

"Sam?"

"It was the summer before I left for college, we'd been hunting…"

"Hunting? Animals?" Stan asked.

Sam smiled. "Sort of. Our family generally sticks to hunting things like Fluffers. We were on our way back…"

**Past**

The forest was giving way to civilization, the setting sun blindingly hot through the windshield and Black Sabbath was blasting out of the speakers. Sam had his eyes closed, enjoying the warmth on his face, trying to ignore the fact his ears were almost bleeding from the decibel level of the stereo. _I'm going to go deaf one day. Or just hear a ringing in my ears. _He opened his eyes and looked over at Dean, his brother was singing along with Ozzy, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music. The white bandage on his forearm was getting damp with blood.

"Is that still bleeding?" Sam asked.

"What?" Dean looked over at him.

"The scratch? From the tree? Is it still bleeding?"

"What?"

"The scratch, from the tree," Sam shouted. Dean turned the stereo off half way through so the last three words were shouted into a quiet car.

"What's that Sammy?" Dean asked with a grin.

"Cute. Is the scratch still bleeding?"

"A little. Stings like a mother."

"I'll clean it out again when we get back."

"Thanks." Dean reached over and flipped the stereo back on.

They pulled up in front of the ratty motel fifteen minutes later. Their father's truck wasn't in the lot when they arrived. "Where's dad?" he asked Dean as they got out of the car.

"He muttered something…said he'd be back around seven and he'd bring food." Dean grinned. "Not sure what the mutter was about…If it had been me…"

"Don't even start."

"But Sam…"

"Dean, I don't care who, what or when, okay?" Sam sighed and opened the door to the room, grabbing Dean's arm and pulling him towards the bathroom when Dean headed towards the bed. "Nope, I need to clean that out before you start on an all night TV marathon."

"But Sammy, 'Monolith Monsters' is going to be on…" Dean glanced at his watch. "In ten minutes."

"I'll be done by then. And how can you stand that movie?"

"People chased by killer rocks? What's not to love?"

"Oh yeah, Dean, scary," Sam said. "Sit."

Dean sat and watched as Sam cut away the bandage. "And after that is 'Tarantula' with John Agar—you know that's one of Clint Eastwood's earliest speaking roles? And then 'Them' which is…"

"One of Leonard Nimoy's early roles, yeah, you might have mentioned that before." Sam looked down at his brother's arm, the scratch was long and shallow running the length of Dean's forearm. "How did this happen?"

"When the tree tried to grab you, it caught my arm." Dean poked at the wound, Sam slapped his hand away. "If I can last till midnight 'Dr. Phibes' is on."

"How many times have you seen Dr. Phibes?" Sam sighed. "I think I'd rather watch 'Spinal Tap'."

"How can you say that?" Dean asked in mock disgust. "I mean, the nurse getting eaten by grasshoppers? Good stuff, Sammy. Hey, that hurts."

"Alcohol usually does."

"No, I mean more than usual." Dean twisted his arm to get a better look at it. "It doesn't look that good, does it?"

"Think you should see a doctor?"

"Yeah, you go ahead and tell dad I need to go to the doctor because of a scratch. I'll just sit here and watch." Dean smiled at him. "Let's wrap it up, the movie's nearly on." Sam smeared antibiotic cream on it and put a fresh bandage over it. "Thanks, Sam." Dean said, dashing out of the bathroom. Sam wasn't even out of the small room before he heard the TV come on.

Their father returned with two large pizzas in hand. He dropped them off and then disappeared to his room muttering about bad Fifties science fiction films. They finished the pizzas and settled in to watch the rest of the marathon. Towards the end of 'Monolith Monsters' Sam noticed his brother was unconsciously rubbing his arm, halfway through 'Tarantula' Sam noticed his brother's cheeks were red and his eyes were a little glassy. _Is he getting a fever? Great. _

"You know, Sammy? If I ever woke up in that town…I'd probably run screaming from the hotel."

"What town?"

"The one all of these movies are set in. If I woke up there, I would totally freak."

"Right." Sam looked over at Dean. "Are you okay?" He got up and put his hand on Dean's forehead. "You're hot."

"That's what she said."

"Ha ha. I meant fever. How does your arm..." Sam looked down at Dean's arm, his hand was red and swollen. "My god, Dean! I'll be right back." Sam walked quickly to their father's room and banged on the door.

"What?" John asked, opening the door.

"Dean's arm, it looks bad."

"His arm? That scratch?" John walked back into his room and came out with the first-aid kit. "We cleaned it…"

"I know, and I cleaned it again when we got back. It looked red then, but I put antibiotic cream on it."

"Good job, cleaning it again, let's see what's going on. How are you feeling?" he asked Dean as they walked into the room.

"I'm fine, I think the bandage is just too tight," Dean grumbled.

"Yeah." John sat on the bed and poked gently at Dean's arm. "It's fevered. I don't think we should take any chances." He rummaged around in the first-aid kit. "Take these." He handed Dean a bottle of pills. "If it's not better in the morning, we might need to do something more. Keep an eye on it."

"Thanks, dad," Sam said as he walked his father to the door.

"If that fever gets higher…"

"Tie him in bed?" Sam grinned. "Yeah, I know. I'll hide the gun too." Sam closed the door and grabbed a coke for Dean.

"Thanks. I hate taking pills dry." Dean smiled. "Damn, we missed the part in the lab."

"You've seen it before."

"And? Your point would be?"

"Bite me, Dean."

Dean chuckled and leaned back in bed. Sam grabbed his book off the nightstand and tried to ignore the sounds of mayhem coming from the TV. He drifted off to sleep as the sirens started blaring, warning Los Angeles of the approaching giant ants.

"Sam?" the quiet voice broke into a dream. "Sam?" There was a pause. "Sammy?"

"Dean?" Sam opened his eyes, the room was dark, the TV off.

"Sam?" Dean said again, as if Sam hadn't answered. He could hear an edge of panic in Dean's voice.

"Dean?" Sam sat up and turned on the light. _He looks terrible. _Dean's eyes were closed, his face red. "What is it?"

"Feel bad," Dean said, his voice tight with pain.

Sam was off the bed and to Dean in one motion. He put his hand on Dean's head. _He's burning up. _"How does your arm feel?"

"Trees."

"What?" Sam pulled the covers down enough to look at the arm without moving it. The bandage was wet, the hand still red, the arm badly swollen.

"Trees, on the walls?"

"There are no trees, Dean. We're at the hotel. It's the fever."

"No. Trees. Laughing at me."

_I think we need dad. _"I'll be right back. I'm going to get dad." He stood, then stopped and patted Dean's chest. "I'll get an axe for the trees, too."

"Thanks, Sammy," Dean sighed. "Hurry."

It took several minutes for John to answer the banging on his door. "Dean's bad," Sam said, before John could say anything.

"Bad how?" John asked as he followed Sam back to the room.

"His fever is up, his arm is swollen. I think he's hallucinating."

"He gets delusional when he has a fever, doesn't he?" John asked with a gentle smile. "Glad you're here, you deal with that better than I ever could." He slapped Sam on the back as they went into the room. John sat on the edge of the bed. "Dean?"

"Dad, did Sam get the axe?"

"I've got it right here, Dean. You talk to dad and I'll take care of the trees."

"Thanks, Sam," John said quietly.

"They're thickest by the bathroom," Dean said, glancing in that direction with panic in his eyes.

"I'm on it," Sam said. _Okay, now that I'm here how do I chop down non_-_existent trees?_ He started thumping the wall by the bathroom with his hand.

"Thanks, Sammy, you're getting them," Dean said.

Sam listened to his father's questions and Dean's answers as he pounded on the wall. Sam worked his way around the room. Dean's answers were coming slower and slower. _I wonder what's going on. Should a scratch get infected that quickly?_

"Dean? Dean?" John's anxious voice brought Sam back from his musings. "Sam!"

"Dad?" Sam hurried to the bed.

"Can you talk to him?"

"Dean?" Sam sat on the opposite side of the bed. His brother turned towards him. "What?"

"Trees said…Feel bad."

"He's said that about ten times," John said, frustration in his voice.

"How do you feel bad?" Sam asked.

"I did ask that," John said _sotto voce_.

"Dean?" Sam asked, when his brother didn't answer.

"Heart hurts, hand, hot," Dean said. "Trees laughing. There's a black hole thing, trying to pull me down."

"It's the fever, Dean," John said reasonably. "Let the antibiotics work."

"No!" Dean grabbed Sam's arm in a vise-like grip. "It's more. Fix it, Sammy, please," Dean said desperately.

"Dad gave you antibiotics, Dean…" _What do I do? How can I fix this? How do I…_

"More…They say…sickness…Not fever…" Dean's eyes fluttered closed. "Sick from…Sam, remember the story…"

"Dean? Dean!" Sam shook his brother, then looked at his father. "Dad?"

"Go warm up the car, we're taking him in to emergency."

"Yeah." Sam grabbed the keys and sprinted to the car. He turned on the ignition, listening to the throaty rumble of the engine. _What did he mean? Remember what? What were we talking about? Dean? A little more info would be helpful some…_Sam turned off the ignition and ran back into the room. "Wait!" he shouted.

"What the hell are you doing?" John asked, he had Dean and was half dragging him out of the room.

"It's like that legend I was telling Dean, dad," Sam said earnestly.

"We'll talk about that later, he needs medical…"

"No, that won't help. It's the residue of the spirit…"

"What?" John said, lowering Dean back onto the bed. "What?"

"The wound, it has a residue from the spirit creature in it, we have to get rid of that—it's the only thing that will work. I remember reading about it in a book of Anglo-Saxon medical lore I found. We need a spell and some herbs to dispel the spirit…"

"What do you need?" John asked quietly.

**Present**

"Oh my god," Sam said, pausing. _Oh my god, what if? _

"Sam?" Stan asked. "What happened?"

"It worked, Dean was up the next day." Sam answered without thinking. _Could that, would that…? _"Stan?"

"Yes?"

"What if this is like that? We killed Fluffers, but somehow something got left behind, a spirit infection?" _How did I miss that? Oh god, Dean, I'm so sorry. _

"Hmm." Stan was quiet. "I've seen them…There was a case in 1923 in…" He looked up at Sam. "I should have seen it." He nodded. "I'll be back."

Sam scrubbed his hands across his face. "I'm sorry, Dean. I should have realized. You might be better off without me." He sighed. "How can I tell you…? Dean, just make it, okay? Killer needs you," Sam said, picking up the plush toy. "The curling championships are over, the yellow guys won. Dean…" He stopped when a nurse came into the room. She checked everything, smiled at Sam and left. "Your feet are a mess, by the way. You might not be able to wear shoes for awhile. They took care of that really deep cut, but they look…Stan?"

"This should work, Sam," Stan said, holding out a coffee mug with a Far Side cartoon on it.

"Thanks." Sam took the cup. "I'll do it. This is my fault…"

"How is it your fault?"

Sam felt the cup trembling in his hands. "I should have realized sooner, I should have been able to stop it before I had to…" He stopped. _That won't help Dean. _Sam took the spoon Stan offered and started patiently spooning the tea into Dean's mouth.

**XXX**

The dark was finally just that, dark. No screaming voices, no hot blood flowing over him, it was just dark. It wasn't completely silent there was a soft whisper in the back of his head and Sam's voice would drift down and find him now and then. The fever was there, he could feel the heat of it throbbing in his head. The pain had nearly disappeared when it began pulsing through him again. It wasn't the white-hot agony of before, not even bad pain yet, but there was something in the way if felt…Dean suspected the further he moved from the dark the worse it would get. He let himself drift in the dark.

"I don't know, Dean," Sam's weary voice again. _Sammy? What's going on? _"How much do you think they'll charge if I destroy that clock? No one seems to look at it, they all know the time. It's just there—ticking at me." _It's a hospital, Sam, the clock would cost ten bucks at the store, which means here it's about five hundred dollars, right? There was this clock once in this motel room in Texas. I came back to the room and it was ticking and I think I threw it out the window. _

Sam was still talking. "You can't let a cat named Fluffers take you out." _What was that? Fluffers? Really? Why couldn't it be, I don't know, what was that cat's name? The cool black one? Wolfman? Why couldn't it be that? I'll never live this down…_ Dean drifted on that indignity for a minute. _Just great. Sam will hold that over my head…_The dark pulled him away.

The dark was becoming less dark, less velvety, the pain more pronounced. Sam was talking. Dean listened, letting his brother's voice calm the panic stirring in his chest. His hand ached, he was hot, the edges of fever causing a bloody light to filter through his mind. _Sammy? Something's still wrong isn't it? Sam? Sammy? _The panic exploded in his chest, Sam was still speaking, then another voice, one Dean thought he recognized. Sam sounded sad, desperate, as he spoke to the other person.

Something hard pressed against his lips and something vile dripped onto Dean's tongue. He swallowed convulsively. Another drop and another. Each drop added velvet to the darkness holding him, each drop cooled the heat throbbing through his body, each drop silenced the last of the whispers still screaming in his head, each drop carried him further away.

"Something's happening," the other voice said as Dean drifted away.

"What?" Sam was panicked. "Stan, what?"

Dean tried to stay, to hear what was said, but the soft velvet enveloped him and pulled him into a cool sea.

The sea slowly parted, the dark receded and awareness crept in. Actual awareness, untouched by fever or dreams. Something warm was clasped around his left hand. The warmth registered. _Good sign maybe? His hand feels warm, not cool. That's good right? _He drifted in the cool dark.

A sigh reached him. _Sam._ Dean tried to force himself out of the dark. Sam was talking again, it took a minute for Dean to realize his brother was talking to him. The weary sadness in Sam's voice hit Dean hard. He could hear his brother was very close to the end of his ability to cope. Dean clawed his way towards consciousness. As he did so pain blossomed through his body, his hand was still throbbing in time to his pulse. His leg ached deep down, there was other pain, but those two were the focus. He pushed himself further, aware of the feeling of drugs in his body. The dark was trying to pull him down again. "Smm?" he asked. _Not sure if I actually said anything. Hmm. Try again. _"Smm?" He took a deep breath, his throat was sore. "Sam?" He heard it that time, his voice was rough, raspy.

"Dean?" The hand on his tightened. "Dean?" Sam's voice was full of tears.

"You 'kay?" Dean tried to open his eyes, they were glued closed.

"I'm okay, Dean."

"Throat's sore."

"Here." A straw poked between Dean's lips. He took a tiny sip of the ice water and let it slide down his throat. "More?" Sam asked.

"No. Thanks. Sleep." Dean managed to get all three words out, even as awareness started flowing away. "Leg hurts."

"Yeah, I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so sor…" Sam's voice drifted off into the dark. Dean wondered why Sam was sorry his leg hurt.

It was almost silent the next time the dark sea parted. The soft beeping of monitors and the hiss of oxygen we a backdrop to the silence. Someone was snoring beside him. Dean swam through the dark waters, up and into awareness. Sam's hand was still on his. Dean opened his eyes. The small plush dog Sam had purchased was sitting on the tray, he turned his head, Sam was asleep in the chair beside the bed. His brother looked terrible. Dean could see the lines of exhaustion and despair on Sam's face.

A sound by the door, Dean turned his head. A tall man with salt and pepper hair walked into the room. He smiled at Dean. "Awake?" he said softly.

"Yeah," Dean answered in the same tone. He thought he recognized the man, or at least his voice. "Who?"

"I'm Dr. Olejniczak," he said, glancing at the monitors over Dean's head. "I'll wake Sam."

"No, let him sleep," Dean rasped out. "He okay?"

"Yes," the doctor said kindly. "Exhaustion, nothing more."

"Good. Tell him I was awake." Dean closed his eyes and let the pain meds carry him away again.

The scent of coffee drifted down and pulled him towards awareness. He focused on his body, the fever was gone, the pain in his hand was no longer hot and throbbing. It hurt and the skin felt funny, but it didn't ache the way it had before. His leg hurt, and as consciousness returned, he realized the pain in his leg had the potential to be bad. _What happened? _

He heard Sam talking to someone by the door. The deep voice of the doctor was answering Sam's questions, a minute later he hard footsteps and the scent of coffee got stronger. _I don't suppose he brought me any. _He opened his eyes, blinking from the sunlight streaming in. Sam was standing with his back to the bed, looking out the window. Sam's shoulders were slumped, as if he were bracing himself before getting hit. _That's not good. _"Sam?" Dean said.

"Dean?" Sam snapped around and walked quickly to the bed. "Hey, man."

"Hey. Where's mine?"

"What?" Sam frowned in confusion.

"Coffee? I haven't had any coffee since yesterday." He stopped when he saw the tears spring into his brother's eyes. "Oh."

"Dean…" Sam put his coffee on the tray. Dean managed to get his left hand around it and took a sip. "I'm not sure…"

"Then why did you put it there?" Dean made a face. "It's not really coffee at all."

Sam smiled a little. "Vanilla latte. Dean…I…" Sam looked away.

_Oh, that is so not good. What happened? _Dean closed his eyes and tried to dredge memories up. Nothing but agony and blood, pain and screams came into view. "Sam? What happened?"

Sam sank into the chair by the bed and put his head in his hands for a minute. He took a deep shuddering breath and looked up at Dean. "What do you remember?"

"The cat bit me…"

"Fluffers," Sam said with a smile.

"Fluffers? Great, I didn't dream that." Dean sighed. _I'll never live that down. _"I came to the ER, I remember that…You came, I was watching curling…" Dean frowned, the memories were confused after that, curling mixed with demon cat eyes, blood on the walls, screaming.

"Anything else?"

"Yeah. Blood on the walls, screams, I dreamed I was outside…" Dean stopped, the memories flowing by. "I was cold for a minute…" He tried to focus, then shrugged. "It's all crazy. Fevers, eh, Sammy?"

Sam's shoulders twitched, waiting for the blow. "It wasn't just a fever, Dean."

"No?"

"Fluffers was a sorcerer…"

"Fluffers? The sorcerer's name was Fluffers?" _Even better. What the hell kind of sorcerer is named Fluffers. Sam will never let me live this down. _

"Yeah, and you got caught in the spell. The bite was the vehicle, once the fever set in, Fluffers could control you."

"He was the one behind the dreams?" Dean asked, he blinked, Sam was getting blurry.

"Yeah. Dean…"

A twinge in his leg shot pain through his body. He groaned, Sam pressed a button into his hand. "Morphine?" Sam nodded, Dean pushed the plunger and waited for the odd pressure morphine always caused at the base of his skull. Relief spread through his body. The morphine made Sam even blurrier, the need to sleep was forcing itself on him. "My leg hurts, Sammy."

"I know, Dean," Sam said, his voice breaking. "God, I'm so sorry. I…" Sam put a trembling hand on Dean's arm. "Dean…"

Dean's eyes closed. "Sorry, Sam, need sleep…" _Why is he sorry about my leg? Sam, we'll talk about this next time. _"Coffee…"

"I'll ask Stan if you can have some, Dean…"

"Stan?" Dean asked as he drifted away.

"The doctor, Dean."

The ache in his leg woke him. It hurt with a deep down pain Dean knew was a serious injury. _How the hell did that happen? I was in a hospital…_A vision of an open field, a small house, a child and a gun suddenly played in his head. He swallowed, the pictures had the intensity of memory. "Sam?" Dean opened his eyes, his brother was sitting in the chair beside him.

"Dean?" Sam looked over at him.

"You been there the whole time?"

Sam smiled. "No, I went back to the motel and took a shower. Gayle sat with you."

"Gayle?" Dean frowned, trying to remember if he knew a Gayle.

"Sorry, she helped me track down Fluffers." Sam looked uncomfortable.

"Fluffers the sorcerer."

"Yeah." Sam looked out the door.

_Uh oh, this is going to be bad whatever he's carrying. _"Where's my coffee?"

"I was waiting till you woke up. You wouldn't want cold coffee, would you?" Sam stood. "Be right back."

"Hurry," Dean said, watching Sam leave. He shifted a little in the bed. The pain in his hand was almost completely gone. He lifted his arm and looked at it. The hand was still a little swollen, the four dark marks left by the cats teeth were puckered in his finger. _More scars. Fun. And not sexy. "How did you get that scar?" "Oh, this one? A cat bit me." Right. She'd run screaming from the bar. _

Dean sighed, something was definitely wrong with Sam. He could peg most of his brother's moods and this one looked a lot like "guilt is killing me" Sam. The Sam that rarely appeared. _In fact, I haven't seen it since, hmmm, after that hunt in New Mexico when Sam had to…_Dean paused, remembering the hunt, remembering what his brother had to do to stop the creature they were hunting.

Sam walked back into the room with a small paper cup in his hand. "Before you say anything, Stan said _small _coffee only."

"It's probably a latte too," Dean grumbled, taking the cup from Sam's hands. "Nice, not a latte." Dean smiled. "Hey check out my hand. Only those four small marks, not bad. The fever's gone, too."

"Good," Sam said. Dean noticed his brother's hands were shaking.

_Okay, that's it Sammy. _"How are you?"

"I'm fine."

"Fine?"

"Fine."

"Yeah, you look fine, Sammy." Dean sipped his coffee. Sam glanced at him, looked out the door, looked out the window, glanced back at Dean and started the rounds again. _Okay, that's enough, I mean it. If you won't talk. _"What happened to my leg?"

Sam looked at him, tears pooling in his eyes. "Dean…" he said in an agonized voice. "Do you remember…?"

"Remember what?" Dean looked at Sam, an image swam before his eyes, bodies on the ground, a voice screaming at him, a small child held against his chest. Dean gasped. "I didn't hurt him?"

"Him?"

"A boy? I remember a child…?"

"Yeah," Sam whispered.

"Sammy, what?" Dean asked gently. Sam put his head in his hands, his shoulders were shaking. "Sam?"

"I shot you," Sam said into his hands.

"What?"

Sam looked up from his hands, anguish in his eyes. "I shot you, Dean. Oh god, I'm so sorry. I shot you."

"The white light, it stopped the screams. That must have been when you shot me."

"I'm so sorry, Dean. God…"

"Sammy," Dean said. Sam ignored him continuing his litany of "I'm sorry". "Sam? Sammy!" Dean grabbed his brother's arm and gave it a shake. Sam focused on him. "What happened?"

Sam sank down on the edge of the bed, picking at the blanket for a moment. "Somehow you got out of the hospital. Fluffers sent you after the last of the family. We tried to stop you with a dart, it didn't take you down. You made it to the house and one of the boys got in the way. You were going to kill him. Jeff—one of the local police—he was going to shoot you. I'd planned ahead in case anything happened. I had my Sig loaded with hollow points filled with salt and Chrism. The first shot passed through your body, the other hit your leg. It nicked the artery." Sam recited it all in a flat monotone.

"And the rest?" Dean could tell there was more there. He knew his brother well enough to know there was more.

"We got back to the hospital," Sam continued in the same toneless voice. "You woke up during surgery. I…Stan said we should let your heart stop—and it worked, they finished the surgery. You woke up again and were going to kill yourself. I…Stan…" Sam stopped, Dean looked at his brother with concern, Sam was getting ready to break.

"Sammy? I remember waking up, I think. I was in a room, someone put something in my hand. Then you were there, you stopped it."

"I…Stan…We had to…You were sedated. It was…respirator…Sorry, Dean, my fault."

"Your fault?" Dean asked. He could see the cracks slowly pulling Sam apart.

"I should have known it was Fluffers, that these were more than the usual delusions. If I had realized that, I could have stopped you. I…Dean…I shot you."

"Not the first time," Dean said with a smile. "Not including rock salt."

"I took care of Fluffers and you still were…My fault." The cracks widened a little further.

"Sammy?"

"I…" Sam didn't get any further, he shattered, the tears streaming down his face. "I…" He put his head in his hands and collapsed forward. Dean put his arm around him and held his brother against him while Sam cried. "Sorry, I'm so sorry," Sam repeated. The words became unintelligible as Sam wept softly against his shoulder. Dean held him, aware of tears in his own eyes. _I hate that he had to go through this. I hate that I put him in this position. Sometime I hate this life. _Sam finally stopped shaking.

"I'm okay, now. That's also your fault, Sammy.You must have done something," Dean said softly.

"I remembered about the spirit infection," Sam said, his voice muffled against Dean's shoulder. He pushed himself up and wiped the tears off his face. "Stan knew a spell. That's what turned the tide. Once that was dealt with you started responding to the antibiotics."

"The doctor knew a spell?" Dean said, smiling at Sam.

"Yeah, well Stan's interesting."

"That's a kind way to put it," the doctor's deep voice came from the door. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. My leg hurts," Dean said, trying to ignore the wince of pain on Sam's face when he said it.

"It will for a little while," Stan said, bending to examine Dean's hand then turning his attention to the leg.

"When can I go?" Dean asked. His brother gave a little strangled laugh that sounded very close to a sob.

"Not for several days. You can't just go through something like this and expect to go romping free the next day," Stan said with a smile.

Sam snorted. "Romping free?" He chuckled, the chuckle became a laugh, the laugh grew until Sam was gasping for breath. He kept mumbling apologies, the laugh growing more out of control.

"Sam?" Dean grinned at the doctor. "You okay there, Sammy?" Sam shook his head, still laughing, tears streaking his face. "This happened sometimes," he said with a shrug. For some reason that increased his brother's laughter.

"I'm okay," Sam hiccupped a few minutes later, gasping for breath. "I'm okay."

Dean put his hand over his brother's. "Are you?"

"Yeah, I think so. You?"

"Yeah. Sammy, I'll be fine." Dean sighed and grabbed the TV remote. "I wonder if anything's on?" he asked as he turned the set on. "Hey, 'Simpsons'. They have the answer to everything, Sammy. You need an answer, the 'Simpsons' have it."

"I'll remember that, Dean, promise." Sam shifted off the bed and into the chair.

"You better, there _will_ be a test later." Dean closed his eyes with a sigh, still aware of Sam's hand under his. _It will be easier to live that down than the whole cat thing. _He drifted off to sleep with the sounds from the TV.

They released him three days later. Stan wanted to keep him a little longer, but Dean was making enough of a nuisance of himself so that the nursing staff practically cheered when Stan gave him the go ahead to leave. Dean was waiting for Sam to come up with his morning coffee and the release forms. As he waited, he pulled strips of skin off his hand.

"That's just gross," Sam said, walking in.

"It itches." Dean heard the whine in his voice. "And it's peeling."

"That doesn't make it a toy." Sam grinned at him and handed him a coffee.

"Fine," Dean mumbled. "Time to go?"

"Yeah, you ready? The nurse is bringing the wheelchair."

"Good. How long do I have to be in the chair?" Dean said as Sam swung his legs off the bed. "Thanks."

"Stan said a week or two, depending on how well you behave yourself."

"I always behave."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Seriously, you have to be careful."

"I know, Sam," Dean said quickly, hoping to cut off the look of soul deep guilt that appeared in Sam's eyes when discussing the leg wound.

"Ready to go?" Stan asked, coming into the room pushing a wheelchair.

"Oh hell yeah," Dean said, smiling. Sam helped him up, he leaned against his brother for a moment before letting Sam settle him in the chair. "Needs a cup holder."

"I'm driving, you can hold your cup," Sam said.

"I wanted to tell you," Stan said, looking from one to the other. "Someone was asking about you."

"Who?" Dean asked, his heart suddenly pounding against his chest.

"He said he was a friend of the family. He wanted to know how you were. I spoke with him and he left. I thought he was going to come up, but he left." Stan smiled gently. "He looked a little like you two. I suspect he was…"

"Dad," Sam and Dean said together.

"How did you know?" Sam asked.

"I've been around awhile…" Stan chuckled. "I'm sorry he didn't stay."

"Yeah," Dean said softly and looked at his brother. Sam's eyes were sparkling with unshed tears. "Hey," he nudged Sam. "You ready to get me out of here, princess?"

"Yeah, sure," Sam said distractedly, then cleared his throat. He looked at Dean, a grin spreading across his face.

"Oh god, what?" Dean asked as Sam pushed him out of the room and down the corridor.

"I found out Fluffers real name…"

"Oh, do you mean Viktor…" Stan started, Sam cut him off.

"No, Fluffers. That was his nickname." Sam chuckled.

"Oh?" Stan asked, looking at Sam.

Sam pushed the chair out the doors, the Impala was parked in the loading zone. "Yeah," Sam said, still grinning.

"Was he a champion and had one of those cool names?" Dean asked hopefully, knowing that Sam's grin did not bode well.

"Something like that." Sam chuckled as he and Stan helped Dean into the car. He folded the wheelchair and put it in the trunk.

"Yes?" Stan said when Sam came back.

"What, Sammy?"

"It's Sam."

"Sam…" Dean growled

"Fluffer Nufter Tuffkins."

"What?" Dean groaned. _I will never, ever live that down. _"Shoot me now."

"Keep in touch," Stan said, closing the door.

"We'll be back for Dean's appointment on Friday."

"And we won't lose touch with the only 100 plus year-old doctor we know. Thanks," Dean said, smiling at Stan. The doctor clapped the top of the car and Sam pulled out.

Sam was chuckling under his breath. "It was an evil sorcerer," Dean said indignantly.

"Named Fluffer Nufter Tuffkins."

"You aren't going to let me live this down any time soon are you?"

"If it were reversed, would you let me live it down?"

"Oh hell no," Dean said with a grin.

"Fluffers, Dean…"

"Bite me. Bitch."

"Jerk."

Dean smiled and leaned back in the seat as Sam flipped on the stereo, "Cat Scratch Fever" blasted out of the speakers. Dean looked over at Sam, his brother smiled back and turned the Impala onto the road.

_**The End**_


End file.
